Arbitrary Execution
by eldestOyster
Summary: Nine years late, Artemis is finally getting ready to escape home and begin her transition. But in her haste to run from her old life, she runs straight into something much, much worse: an Indigo League secret that threatens the very fabric of reality. [Also available on Serebii. Updates every other Sunday.]
1. 01: A Requiem for Past Selves

_Content warnings for depression, hallucination, (remembered, undescribed) self-harm, and other bad mental health things, some strong language, some violence. If anything else comes up, it will be warned for before the chapter in question.  
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* * *

 **01: A REQUIEM FOR PAST SELVES**

You could say it starts with divine revelation. It would certainly make a good story if that was true, and like all good stories, the best part is that it actually almost is. You could also say that it started with bureaucracy, and although this is less interesting it does have the advantage of being much more definitely true.

So let's start with that: paperwork and terror, the two pillars of the civil service. Here she is, alone at her desk in the middle of the night. The only one awake in the house. Secretive. Afraid.

Her pen hovers over the form. Technically, this is fraud. Probably. But nobody's going to know, right? And isn't it worth it, considering?

She doesn't quite have the nerve to do it just now, so she skips that part and goes on to the next. Address: that's much easier, there's no question about that. 146 City Road, Pewter, Lanmering Riding, Kanto, 88-7N-09. Okay. What's next? Age. Also simple: 19. Old enough that the next section of the form doesn't apply to her; it's intended for parents and guardians filling this out for their kids. (The reminder that she is nine years late to the party grates. But she will be okay.) So she can skip that and go ahead to – oh god, it's the financial stuff. Is she eligible for any of the following grants or bursaries? Eligibility can be checked online on the League website. She's already been there and looked around, but unfortunately she's too old for most of them. There's one, though. A Recognition of Material Disadvantage Grant, which despite the pompous and somewhat alienating name does probably apply to her: she's over sixteen, she can demonstrably not afford a trainer journey, she never had one when she was younger. She ticks the box and turns the page.

If yes, please fill out a BN6 form, copies of which are available at your local Gym or League office, or digitally via the League website. "I have filled out and attached the relevant form": she looks in her desk to make sure she still has it, nods nervously to herself, and checks the box.

That's all this is, she tells herself. It's checking boxes. It's telling them what they want to hear. Proof of residence – okay, that's going to be tricky. That will contradict what she wants to put in that first box. Everything that ties her to this place has someone else's name on it. She thinks about it for a second, then opens up the Kanto government website, ancient laptop whirring noisily with the strain, and finds the form she's after. The thing is, that requires a witness, and she isn't sure she knows anyone sufficiently authoritative who she can trust with that. But if she could find someone, she could attach a scan of her passport, and then a copy of this form, too, and then none of this would be fraud and everything would, somehow, work.

She feels her heart beating very fast and hard, like a fist pummelling the wall of her chest. Is she ready for this?

No. She isn't. But she's going to have to do this sometime, isn't she, so she might as well get it over with.

She saves the form to a suitably obscure folder to print later, then erases her web history (just in case) and closes her browser. Breathe. Okay? Okay. She turns her attention back to the form.

Her eye goes back up to that first entry, right at the top of page one. Two words, block capitals.

FULL NAME.

Slowly, deliberately, marvelling at her own courage, she writes it out:

 _ARTEMIS APANCHOMENE_.

* * *

And that is where it really begins. With an absurd name stolen from someone else's history, written almost-fraudulently across the top of an application for an Indigo Plateau League trainer card. If you're going to rename yourself, you might as well go all in, right? She could be a Katherine or a Niamh, an Abigail or a Tessa, even if she dared (which she doesn't) an Avani or Shreya or Radhika – but what the hell. She's not going to get this chance again. No reason not to shoot for the moon. In this case, literally.

Artemis thinks about this as she rides the bus down to the Pewter Gym. She got the letter yesterday, after months of exasperating correspondence while League clerks demanded more forms and more clarification. By this point, there are probably enough copies of her deed poll floating around the Indigo Plateau offices to wallpaper the Champion's room. Still, she got the letter, _Dear Ms Apanchomene, we are pleased to inform you that your application has been successful_ and all that, and now she's on her way down to the Gym to pick up the promised card. She could have had it delivered, but she's getting tired of waiting nervously by the door to snatch up letters addressed to MS ARTEMIS APANCHOMENE before her parents see the unfamiliar name and start wondering. Besides, she needs to speak to the officials at the Gym anyway. She's going to need a pokémon, after all, and right now she's not really equipped to get one herself.

She supposes she _could_ ask her parents. They are technically part of this too; this is after the arguments, the lines drawn in the sand, the compromises and conditions. But they don't really like it. They think it's too late really, that she missed her chance the first time around and now honestly she probably shouldn't be wandering the country on her own anyway. Besides, aren't you lucky to be able to handle school, given your (ahem) condition? You really shouldn't pass this opportunity up.

So no, she won't ask them. She's done the negotiating, she's got her compromise, but she won't involve them any more than she has to. They don't _want_ to be involved, and honestly that's not even such a bad thing. She's doing all this with her new name, after all. The one they don't even know she has.

Artemis holds onto the strap as the bus sways around a corner and tries not to think about any of it. The future is right there in front of her, gigantic and utterly inscrutable. Once she has that card, she'll have the last thing she needs to throw herself into it. And after that, she's on her own.

She swallows. It's the kind of decision that looks bigger and nastier the closer you get, like a mountain range that's fuzzy in the distance and jagged as hell up close. But she's committed now. The change of name is legal; she's already registered it with the bank and the university. In the end, sick with nerves, she approached her friend Chelle's mother, who is mostly oblivious to her daughter's friends but very kind, and after a brief and difficult explanation of the situation asked if she would witness the deed poll for her. It was far and away the most awkward conversation she's ever had, but it got results. And now it's official. Her name is Artemis, and sooner or later she'll have to stop lying about it, and so, well, here she is. No turning back.

A lot of planning has gone into this. A lot of work, a lot of sleepless nights, a lot of money. Artemis clings onto the strap and hopes that it turns out to be worth it.

The Gym is a long, graceful building in the heart of downtown Pewter, with several other less attractive buildings clinging onto its sides like barnacles on the flanks of a whale. It looks old, and it looks busy. Artemis sees trainers (all younger than her) and a startling variety of pokémon: bellsprout stomping flat-footed on forked roots and pidgey fluttering and cooing, sure, but also a lanky Mr Mime that moves like a broken puppet and a polished-looking scizor nearly as tall as she is. Its pincers look like they could shear through solid concrete.

She takes a breath. Okay? Okay. Let's go.

Inside, the Gym looks less old than dated; the ugly stone cladding is probably meant to indicate that you can expect rock-type battles, but really it just gives the impression of having last been redecorated in 1976. Still, it's not exactly driving people away. The lobby is heaving, full of noise and strange pokémon smells, and Artemis has to wait in line for several nerve-wracking minutes before she gets to speak to the receptionist.

"Hi," she says uncertainly. "I'm … here to pick up my trainer card?"

"Sure," replies the receptionist. He is very polite. He doesn't stare too much, even though Artemis has come today as herself, not who she pretends to be at home. "What's your name, please?"

"Artemis Apanchomene." It's the first time she's introduced herself with this name, and it's exciting and also kind of terrifying, but she's practised saying it and doesn't stutter at all. The receptionist searches his computer, then his files, and comes up with a document. He asks her date of birth and address, and then, satisfied she isn't an imposter (more satisfied, in fact, than Artemis is herself), hands her a rectangle of laminated plastic.

"Here you go," he says, smiling. "It's official. You're a trainer."

Artemis smiles back, despite herself. It _is_ official. She _is_ a trainer. She has the card right here in her hand and okay, it's not the most flattering photo but who cares, right? It's here. This is happening.

"Yeah," she says, and then remembers herself. "Well – not quite. There's one more thing …"

The receptionist nods understandingly.

"You don't have a pokémon?"

"Yeah. Kinda hard to be a trainer without that, you know?"

"Yep, it really is. Okay, well, we don't have any at the moment – they always find partners fast – but we offer sessions with our Gym trainers where they take you out to catch one. Is that something you'd be interested in?"

"Uh, yes please."

"Great. The next appointment I've got is Saturday at two pm. That okay with you?"

Artemis starts.

"So soon?"

"I've got later ones if that doesn't work – Tuesday at eleven or four, Friday at―"

"No! No, no, that's fine." Artemis tries a smile. God. What is she afraid of? This is what she's been working towards, right? A trainer card, a pokémon. A ticket out of Pewter and the life she has here. "I just, um, I just thought you'd be all booked up for ages."

The receptionist nods understandingly.

"You'd be surprised," he says. "Lots of people already have pokémon. Their parents help them get one or whatever." He looks a little nervous there, maybe wondering why she who is so obviously not a child is here at all, but he covers it well. "Anyway, uh – Saturday at two, then?"

"Yeah. That's great, thanks."

Artemis leaves, thankful to get out of the crowded lobby and into the cool spring air of the street, and tries to wrap her head around what she's just done. The card, she thinks: let's take that first. It's here, in her hand. ARTEMIS APANCHOMENE, 11/11/1998, 146 CITY ROAD, PEWTER. Photo and everything. Now, any time she likes within the next four months, she can let the League know she's going, and ten days later the money will be in her account.

Or to put it another way, sometime within the next four months, she _has_ to do this.

She swallows, and gets on her bus. It's okay. She's got four days till Saturday, anyway. Enough time to think it over, and chicken out if she wants to. Not that she can. She won't get a second chance with the trainer journey thing, not with the League and not with her parents, and besides she has to leave, she _has_ to. Leaving is scary, but staying is worse. Staying is only putting off the moment when everything comes to a head, and she's forced to go whether she likes it or not. Better to exit on her own terms.

Artemis looks at her shiny new trainer card, now a little less shiny with handling but still hugely, unnervingly new, and then she puts it away in her pocket. She's only got a few minutes till her stop. It's probably time she started preparing.

* * *

The days go both faster and slower than she was hoping for. On the one hand – heading out into the world to catch herself a pokémon? Hell yeah. Isn't that what everyone wants as a kid? It's definitely what _she_ wanted, but things didn't work out that way. First there was the illness, then the recovery, and then just when her parents' grip on her started to slacken a little they found her scars, and then there was no chance they'd let her travel Kanto on her own. And okay, they might have had a point there; she really was in a bad way back then, she can't deny it. Now at last she has the chance again, and it's going to be amazing.

But on the other hand – when she does this, she really has committed. To Artemis, to her new face, to a life that she knows she can never bring home. Once she catches that pokémon, it's time to get going, and that's where all those plans start turning into actions. And that's a change, a positive change maybe but also a big one, and Artemis would be lying if she said she wasn't afraid of that.

She isn't even sure how she's going to handle this. Is she going to tell them? Probably not. They won't believe her. That's the thing about her: nobody ever has to believe anything she says, if they don't want to. Because she's just imagining things, right? Like she always does.

She used to think that too. She fought this for so damn long, trying to convince herself that this like so much else was just in her head – but in the end, isn't this kind of thing _always_ in your head? Who gets to decide whether someone's a girl or not, anyway? Surely only the person involved. So, to hell with it. She's a girl. Nobody will believe her, but she is.

Next question: what is she going to do about it?

And this is her answer. Get out of town, cut some ties, and decide what the hell comes next.

It's not much of a plan, but it's escape, for a year at least. And Artemis really, really needs to escape.

The stress takes its toll. She has at least one bad night, although nobody gets hurt and she sees nothing that she shouldn't. Artemis takes her meds, grounds herself as best she can, and sticks to her guns. Saturday is the day. Nothing's going to change that now.

She spends most of her time in her room, reading articles about training online. Soon enough she'll have a whole country to wander; for now, she restricts herself to roaming digitally, devouring everything she can find about the nuts and bolts of pokémon training. She learns that flying-types don't just dodge ground attacks because they're in the air, but because they have an elemental resistance: don't waste your time trying to snipe with mud shots, even if you think a missile of packed dirt might logically smack that fearow out of the sky. She learns that geodude are are capable of short bursts of speed if they hoist themselves up on the palms of their hands and use their arms as legs. She learns that certain ghost- and psychic-type moves like psyshock cause shrapnel or ripples on the psychic plane that spread through the minds of nearby observers, and that those with mental illnesses should be wary of getting too close to the point of impact.

Everything she reads, she remembers. It's easy if you have the knack for it, and Artemis always has done. Now she needs that skill more than ever: she has to make this work. Otherwise, well. This won't be much of an escape, will it?

When Saturday does come, it almost sneaks up on her, somewhere in the midst of the hours lost down online rabbit holes. She makes tea for everyone in the morning, as the old routine of the house dictates, and when she brings the cups to her parents she is reminded that today's the day.

"It's not too late to back out," her dad tells her. "You know that right, ――?"

He says her old name but she carefully doesn't hear it.

"Okay, dad," she says. "I'm not doing that, but, um, thanks for the reminder I guess?"

He raises his eyebrows at her. Paternal. Slightly condescending.

"You're sure you want to go through with this?" he persists.

"We've been over this," she says. "I'm going."

And she does. At one pm she leaves the house; at one twenty she's at her friend's house, where she changes clothes and faces ("Thanks, Chelle, I owe you"; "'S nothing, Artie, good luck!"); and then, at two, she presents herself and her less-shiny, still-new trainer card at the Gym.

"Hi," says the receptionist. "It's … Artemis, right?"

"Yeah," she replies, surprised. She supposes she's probably quite memorable, although for all the wrong reasons. "Yeah, that's me."

"Here to catch your first pokémon?"

"Yep."

"Okay, let me see … sure. Take a seat, and I'll send Jerry over to get you."

"Okay," says Artemis, suddenly feeling weak with nerves. "Okay, um … thanks."

The receptionist sees her fear and does his best to smile encouragingly.

"No need to worry," he says. "You'll do great."

She manages a smile in return. It's not a very convincing smile, but hopefully he gets the idea.

"Thanks," she says. "I appreciate it."

The Gym is not so busy today. A few trainers, no pokémon extraordinary enough to really draw her attention; one kid has one of those mossy geodude that can learn the odd grass move, but they're not exactly rare. Artemis picks up a magazine from the table and begins to leaf through it, looking at glossy photographs of trainers and pokémon. She can't quite concentrate on any of the text right now – too nervous, or too excited, or both – but the act of turning the pages helps to settle her a little.

"Artemis?"

She looks up from her magazine to see a boy a depressing number of years her junior standing next to her. He can't be a day older than fifteen, and this is the guy who's going to be showing her the ropes. Great.

He also looks nervous. Artemis supposes she'd better get used to that. She's tall and bulky in the kind of way that argues strength, and her hair is all wrong for a girl; she's going to end up unsettling some people. It's okay, she tells herself, although of course it isn't really. She's big enough to intimidate, and that will help protect her. As if that were all that mattered.

"Yeah," she says. "That's me."

"I'm Jerry. This is Leroy." He indicates the rhyhorn at his side, a big, squat creature that looks almost flattened by the weight of its stone armour. "We'll be helping you catch your pokémon."

"Okay, cool." Artemis stands up, and immediately both she and Jerry become extraordinarily aware of her height. It's quite something. Even her family was surprised, when it first became clear she was just going to keep right on growing: neither of her parents are more than average height, although her grandfather Nikhil is supposed to have been something of a giant. "Um," she says, trying not to stoop. "So … where are we going?"

"Uh, yeah, okay," replies Jerry, trying in return not to stare. "We'll be going out to the woods. Viridian Forest, you know, it's gonna be full of trainers this time of year, so we'll be heading out west instead. There are some good spots round there where we can usually find something."

He recalls Leroy – too heavy for the bus, he explains – and leads Artemis out of the Gym and along to the bus stop, a few dozen yards down the street.

"What kind of something?" asks Artemis, doing her best to keep the conversation going. This is clearly a question that Jerry is more familiar with.

"Well, it all depends," he says. "There'll probably be some rattata and pidgey out there, but honestly we don't normally recommend them as a starter – too nervous, so they're kinda difficult to manage if you've never worked with pokémon before. What we'll be looking for are things like mossy geodude, blackwing spearow, nidoran – basically stuff in the sweet spot between 'strong enough to kick your ass' and 'too weak to battle'."

It's not very funny, but Artemis laughs anyway, out of a sense of duty. Jerry's trying, damn it. She should too.

"Okay," she says. "Sorry, you probably get that question every time."

Jerry smiles.

"No, it's fine. I mean, it would be weirder if you didn't ask. Everyone wants to know."

They get on the bus, and Jerry holds out a hand to stop her paying.

"Hang on," he says. "I got this." He touches a card in a clear plastic wallet to the reader, and the driver waves them through. "League privileges," he tells Artemis, as they take their seats. "It charges it to the Gym's account."

"Is that okay? I mean, I'm not League―"

"But you _are_ working with us today." Jerry shrugs. "Brock's rules. He doesn't think it's fair if you have to pay to come get your first pokémon."

Artemis can see a little bit of the kid in him there, peeping out from behind the Gym trainer persona. He swells a little as he speaks, proud to be associated with one of Kanto's top trainers. She almost smiles, only she doesn't want him to think she's mocking him.

"Right," she says. "That's nice of him."

"He's pretty great," agrees Jerry eagerly. "You'll see when you battle him."

"That's … probably not gonna be for a while yet. I don't think I'll be ready for a Gym challenge any time soon."

"Well, y'know. Fortune favours the bold and stuff."

Artemis thinks that that's kind of a silly maxim, correlation and causation being what they are, but she doesn't say anything. Jerry is being nice. He doesn't have to be. No one does.

"Maybe," she says, and lets the thread of the conversation fall.

Outside, the buildings move at an angle; they are coming down the hill on which the Gym is built now, turning west along Longdean Street, past the old video store and the bowling alley. Artemis hasn't been to this part of town in years; she's moderately surprised to see the video store's sign is still up and the FOR SALE notice still in the darkened window. She would have thought something else would have moved in there by now.

Pewter in the summer. Traffic, heat, sunlight turning the backs of streetlamps and the metal fittings of windows into lines of white fire. Someone walking an ivysaur that's got all lively with the heat and light and keeps running ahead of them down the street, constantly on the verge of knocking something or someone over.

This weather should hold. Artemis has checked the forecasts, and it's going to be one of those summers. A good time to find her feet and get used to travelling, before the cold of winter starts to set in.

It's starting, she realises. This is it. This is day one. By the time she gets back home, she's going to have a pokémon.

She watches the street, the cars and cyclists and windows glinting in the light, and feels a slow smile creeping across her face.

It's starting. And she's beginning to feel like she might be ready for it.

* * *

Here is the compromise she has worked out with her parents: she can go, if she can (a) fund it herself, and (b) secure herself a place at university for the following year. (A) was tricky, but the League grant sorted it out; the regulations are set up so that people in Artemis' position get the chance to go without depending on parental funding. She's heard that this is down to the Elite Four's Agatha, who's supposed to have started her career going up against a similar kind of parental reluctance as Artemis is, but maybe that's just rumours.

(B) is much easier. Artemis is good at schoolwork. There's a knack to it, and she has it; that's one of the reasons it took so long for anyone to notice that there was anything off about her mental health. If you're _really_ unwell, you're not supposed to be able to cope with life. Never mind if you're barely managing it, if you're seeing ghost people and making it through each day by the skin of your teeth; if you're coping at all, you must be okay. Until you start bleeding, and even then you're obviously only after attention. So: the place at university. She got that, and she got it deferred as well. Easy enough. She doesn't know if she'll take it up, of course, but like so many things about Artemis, her parents don't need to know that. Yet.

She _will_ tell them everything, one day. She thinks. Or maybe she won't. Either way, right now there is a lot about her that she can no longer contain but which she doesn't dare reveal.

Which means, basically, it's time to make like a big damn hero and run away from her problems. Sitting here, watching Pewter thin out around her as the bus reaches the outskirts, Artemis finds that the guilt barely even registers. She has to get away: there's no shame in it, that's just a fact. Something's got to give, and she'd much rather it do so without pushing her relationship with her parents past the breaking point.

"This is our stop," says Jerry, interrupting her thoughts, and she follows him back out into the summer heat. They're on the corner of a long, curving road lined on one side with expensive-looking houses, and on the other with fields sloping up towards the woods to the west. Everything looks unreal in the glittering light, like a still from a movie, or maybe it looks too real. Artemis isn't sure she's the best judge of that kind of thing.

Jerry lets Leroy out of his ball again, to stamp his feet and squint around fiercely at their surroundings. Artemis wonders if he recognises the place. How smart is a rhyhorn, exactly?

"Are you ready?" asks Jerry, smiling up at her. "Here, I got something for you."

He fishes in his backpack and brings out a few poké balls – just ordinary ones, the kind Artemis has seen more times than she can count, but today they seem different and she stares, stupefied.

"For me?"

"Yeah. It's your starter, you're gonna do the catching."

"I don't know how good I'm gonna be at that."

Jerry shrugs.

"Guess you're gonna find out." He says it cheerfully and probably means well, but it feels to Artemis almost like a threat.

They cut across the field, heading uphill towards the forest. From here, the Pewter traffic seems distant and muted; in its place, Artemis hears birds and crickets. She can't remember the last time she heard them so clearly.

She looks at Jerry and Leroy, and sees the way they match paces, Jerry automatically slowing every time Leroy starts to fall behind. The two of them seem very well matched, and suddenly it seems ridiculous to her that she could ever hope to achieve that kind of relationship with anything.

Some of this must show on her face, because after a minute or two Jerry offers an awkward attempt at reassurance.

"I wouldn't worry," he says. "Most people do manage to catch something."

Artemis wants to say that that's not the most persuasive way to put it, but it seems a little mean-spirited, so she holds back.

"Yeah?" she asks, instead.

"Yeah. It has to be you, see. You gotta make it clear to the pokémon that you're the one asking to partner with it. If it doesn't want to work with you, it's probably gonna be hard to capture it, and it definitely won't respond to training. There's a good chance it'll just smash its way out of the ball, too."

"They can do that?"

"Not immediately, but yeah. Most poké balls are really more of a convenience thing, for like transport and stuff. It's really hard to catch something that doesn't want to be caught."

Artemis imagines a poké ball exploding in her pocket and a geodude, a spearow, a psyduck bursting free and running off back to the wild. She swallows. It will be fine. Most people … well, okay, maybe she isn't most people, but hopefully she isn't such a jerk that whatever she catches is just going to abandon her like that.

They reach the shade of the trees, and the light quickly fades to something less eye-melting. Artemis blinks a few times, trying to adjust. She should probably invest in some sunglasses before she leaves town.

Leroy sniffs deeply and shuffles his heavy feet among the fallen leaves. Jerry smiles and rubs his head affectionately.

"Yeah, okay, dude," he says. "I know you like the sun, but it's warm enough here, okay? We got pokémon to catch."

The two of them lead Artemis deeper into the woods, moving at what feels like random but which she suspects might just be some indirect way of covering more ground. She needs to learn this stuff, she tells herself. She can't fail, can't come crawling back home. This has got to stick.

Time passes, which is maybe the only thing that reliably happens out here in the forest. Artemis sees a chocolate-brown wood rattata and a couple of spearow, but none are interested in fighting or finding human partners; they vanish behind trees or into bushes as soon as they catch sight of her. Or maybe it's Leroy. She's pretty sure rhyhorn only eat grass, but hey, he intimidates _her_ , so she imagines anything smaller than him must be straight-up terrified.

"Hold up a sec," says Jerry suddenly. "There. D'you see?"

Artemis looks, but has to admit that she does not.

"No," she says. "What am I looking at?"

"That rock."

Now it's been pointed out to her, she can see it: a mossy little boulder, far too regular in shape to be natural, and with a weird lump on one side that looks like folded arms.

"Okay," whispers Jerry. "Here's what you do―"

But Artemis never hears what she's meant to do. It's not that she isn't paying attention, but that at that moment, in a split second at half past three on a summer's afternoon, night falls.

After that, the geodude doesn't seem particularly important any more.

* * *

Both of them stand there frozen for some time. Artemis feels the old fear bubbling up inside her, a kicking, thrashing energy that saps the strength from her muscles and makes her hands shake uncontrollably, but she manages to hold onto her voice, just, and she whispers to Jerry:

"S-sorry, but are you … are you seeing this?"

"Yeah." He sounds almost as scared as her, which is frankly not comforting. Leroy is crouching at his heels, tail waving and crest raised, lowing into the sudden, unnatural dark.

"Okay," says Artemis. "Okay." This is a good start. She has not hallucinated in some time, and in many ways it's good to know that she hasn't started again now. On the other hand, if this is real, then something much, much worse than mere hallucination is going on. "What do we …?"

She trails off, hearing music. Or – is that music, exactly? It's definitely noise, definitely organised into some kind of rhythm, but she can't identify a voice or an instrument. It's high and sweet and beautiful in all the wrong ways, ways that make the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

"You hear that?" asks Jerry.

"Yeah," she replies.

Neither of them move. Both of them know that this is not a sustainable course of action.

The birds and the crickets have fallen silent. The only sound now anywhere in the forest is the music, or almost-music.

"I should check that out," says Jerry slowly, reluctantly, fighting his own voice to get the words out. "I – I'm a Gym trainer. I … You stay here. I'll be back."

Artemis can hear the terror in his voice, the _please don't leave me on my own_ , and she can't not respond. She shakes her head and touches his arm.

"That's one of those lines that when you hear it in a horror movie, you know the person's gonna die," she says. "No. We should stick together."

Maybe she's better at faking it than she thought, or maybe it's just his nerves, but Jerry actually laughs a little.

"Yeah, okay," he agrees. "Which way is it coming from, d'you think?"

"That way, maybe?"

"Sure. Leroy?"

The rhyhorn stamps and sniffs, agitated. His tail lashes back and forth like a battering ram.

"C'mon, buddy," says Jerry, reaching out to stroke his head with what to Artemis looks like the kind of bravery that loses a hand. "It's gonna be okay. Probably just a ghost or something. C'mon now. C'mon."

The words stop forming sentences, but it's not important; Jerry keeps his voice quiet and soothing, and in a minute or two Leroy has calmed down. He's not happy, obviously, his eyes are flashing and he keeps snorting like an angry bull, but he's willing to follow.

And after that there's no waiting any longer. The three of them steal through the untimely midnight, trying hard to not be seen or heard by god knows what, and as the music gets louder they begin to hear another noise beneath it. Something long and low and deep. A grinding sound like a knife being sharpened, if the knife was the size of Jupiter.

"There's something up ahead," says Jerry, the sudden noise making Artemis jump. "Oh – uh, sorry. But – d'you see it?"

"Yeah," she replies. "Yeah, I see it."

A red light, shining between the trees. It looks like it's a little way off. Artemis chews her lip.

"Uh, as like a professional Gym trainer," she says, "what do you … I mean, any ideas?"

"Um … no?"

"Okay." She swallows. "Just thought I'd ask."

They pick their way between the bushes towards the light. Neither is entirely sure this is a good idea; in fact, both are certain that it probably isn't, but at this point viable alternatives are looking a little thin on the ground.

Leroy snarls, a loud grating sound like stones smashing together, and Artemis almost starts out of her skin.

"Jesus―!"

"Sorry!" hisses Jerry. "Leroy! Please, buddy, we gotta – we gotta be careful here, okay? Careful."

He growls a little, and he certainly doesn't look calm by any stretch of the imagination, but he stays quiet. Jerry wipes his forehead and apologises again.

"Sorry."

"It's okay," says Artemis. "I think we're getting close."

The light is flickery and its illumination uncertain; still, she thinks she can tell that whatever it is that's glowing, it's big. She doesn't know if this is more or less encouraging than if it were small. Probably it's less, but she's here now, and okay she feels like a small man is trapped inside her chest and trying to beat his way out with his bare fists but she's here, and it's there, and there's not so very far to go until she at least knows what it is that's scaring her so badly.

"I think he's okay," says Jerry, with a last look at Leroy. "Let's … keep going."

He couldn't sound much less enthusiastic if he tried. Artemis tactfully ignores it. She stays alongside him as they push through a thick tangle of bushes, and then suddenly they have emerged onto a bare hilltop and she sees it and her eyes go wide and the world seems to fall away beneath her.

There is a spire of red light bridging ground and sky.

It burns like nothing she's ever seen, surface spitting sparks and forks of red lightning that flare and die to the beat of that unearthly music. It may have a top, but she cannot see it; it seems to just go up and up and up, disappearing among the stars that have become massively, absurdly numerous, as if all of Kanto's light pollution had been eradicated at once. The base is too bright to look at, but Artemis smells something like burning, although she can see no smoke.

Distantly, over the swell of the music and the awful rumble of the grinding, she hears Leroy bellow and flee. She thinks he has the right idea, although she doesn't seem to be able to follow suit. Now that she looking at the thing, she cannot seem to move.

 _Breach_ , whispers the spire of light. _There has been a breach._

Its voice is cold and clear and very distant. Artemis knows without quite knowing how that it is speaking from somewhere further away than there is space in the world.

She feels her mouth moving in response. It takes her a little while to realise that she is apparently speaking.

"What are you?"

The answer is unintelligible, a series of shapes and images flashing before her mind's eye in a way that makes no sense: globs of splattered colour, squares, punctuation, numbers, a newborn baby all bloody and fresh, something that might be the astrological symbol for Venus.

"What is that?" Artemis hears, and dimly she categorises the voice as Jerry's. "What does that _mean?_ "

The spire flickers and burns and keeps on singing its awful song.

 _Me_ , it says simply. _I am who I am_.

Artemis wants to scream, but doesn't; feels like she will fall, but doesn't. She can hear her blood rushing in her ears, vibrating with the music of the spire.

"What do you want?" she asks, horrified, pleading, and the spire shifts the key of its song slightly.

 _Nothing_ , it says. _I am here because I was called. I will be here until I am uncalled._

"But why?"

 _I did not ask._ The spire contracts, expands, belches out sheets of red sparks that hang unnaturally in the air before dying. _I am of the breach. I am vaunt-courier. I am omen_.

"Of what?"

 _Of breach_ , it says. _Of breach. There has been a breach_.

Its glow intensifies suddenly, red staining the grass and bloodying the sky―

And then everything is over.

Something releases her. Artemis falls to her knees in the clear light of day, shaking and trying not to cry, and beside her she hears Jerry being violently and copiously sick. The stars are gone. The sun is back.

In the distance, far below in Pewter, the cars go back and forth like nothing ever happened.


	2. 02: The Price of Silence

**02: THE PRICE OF SILENCE**

The thing about Emilia Santangelo is that really, she's just a lawyer.

Sure, she works for the League, and she has a couple of pokémon, but one is a leftover from her trainer journey and so old she spends most of her time asleep, and the other is more of a personal assistant than anything else. Battling with either would be a spectacularly bad idea.

So she's not really a trainer, and though she has had some forensic training – it comes with this particular job, which she refers to in public as 'legal advisor with special investigatory powers' and in her head, off the back of years of bad movies, as 'fixer' – she isn't really a detective, either. You want to know the ins and outs of government law? You got the right person. Anything else and, well, she'll give it a shot, she's experienced enough now at thirty-seven to have learned to improvise, but privately she'll be counting the seconds till she makes a mistake. And then when she does, she will quietly and unobtrusively fix it and get back on with her work. She is, after all, a professional.

Still. When she gets the call from the Indigo Plateau that night, her first response is a certain amount of anxiety.

"Lori?"

"Hi, Em," says Lorelei. "Sorry to bring you in on a weekend, but something's come up."

"Not a problem," Emilia assures her, slipping automatically from her friendly to her professional voice. "I'll get the next flight."

"This is … more urgent than that." Lorelei is very professional, always has been, but there's the slightest hint of a strain to her voice. "We've contacted Sabrina. You can expect the kadabra rep in a few minutes."

Right. So: serious, then. The League doesn't burn its favours with the alakazam Consensus lightly. There's an agreement between the two bodies, which the League has down on paper and which the alakazam and kadabra maintain as a dream trapped in a length of carved bone, and when there are real risks to the public good the kadabra consent to coming down from the hills and bending their powers to the assistance of the Kantan people. As with so many alliances, however, the reason it works is because it doesn't tested too often. The League, for the most part, doesn't ask, and the kadabra don't answer. Everyone ignores each other, and nobody gets hurt.

Except tonight, clearly. Something very, very big must have happened. Big enough for the Consensus' envoy at the Saffron League offices to step in and offer to teleport Emilia to the Indigo Plateau.

"All right," she says, voice neutral. "I'll make my arrangements."

"Good. I'll let you get ready. We've got a lot to discuss."

Lorelei hangs up. Emilia looks at her phone for a minute, a little nervous, a little excited, mostly hoping that this time there won't be any corpses involved, and then starts gathering her things.

"Hey, Effie," she says, stopping by the large pot plant in the corner of the room. "I've got to go, okay? It's work."

The plant does not respond. It is a large, meaty sort of flower that smells faintly of rotting flesh even through the crisp scent of the air freshener that stands on a nearby shelf. Emilia closes her eyes, takes a breath, and tries again.

"Effie?"

This time the flower wobbles, just a little. A visitor might think it was a draught, but Emilia knows otherwise. Effie is very old, barely ever uproots herself any more, but she's not gone. Not yet. With vileplume, you know it when it happens.

"I have to go," she says. "You'll be okay, right?"

No response. Emilia sighs and pats Effie's thick stem, heedless of the smell that sticks to her fingers.

"Okay," she says. "I'll be back soon, I promise."

She straightens up, businesslike again. She wipes her hands and puts a few things into a bag.

"Nadia," she calls, and hears a twittering answer from the other room. "Clear tomorrow's schedule, would you? I have a feeling this is going to be an all-nighter."

The kadabra rep knocks, the sound of their claws on the door echoing loudly in the night. Emilia nods to herself, slings her bag over her shoulder, and with just one last glance at Effie, she leaves.

* * *

"Okay," says Brock. "I'm sorry to have to ask, but I'm going to need you to go over exactly what it was that you saw."

Artemis is back in the Gym, sitting at a table in a spartan room somewhere in the depths of the staff-only area. She has her hands clamped as tightly as she can around a mug of strong, sweet tea, in the hope that this might stop them trembling too much. It's not going so well. So far, she's spilled it on her fingers twice.

On the other side of the table is Brock Chambers, head of Pewter's Pokémon Gym. This seems almost as weird as what happened out there in the woods. Artemis did think she'd meet him one day, as part of the Gym challenge, but not so soon, and not like this. He doesn't look like a Gym leader right now. He looks like someone who didn't get enough sleep to handle something this weird.

"I … there was this light," she tells him, and he leans forward, nods encouragingly. "Like – a beam, I guess, going up into the sky. Red. Kinda like lightning – crackling. And it … there was music. I think it was music. I don't know. And a noise like something grinding."

Brock nods.

"Okay," he says. "You said it was dark?"

"Yeah." She wishes Jerry was here to help out with this. Unfortunately, he took to the spire even worse than she did; it was all she could do to get him back out of the woods into town. She was terrified, but he seemed physically ill, and when someone called the authorities the ambulance that arrived took him away. He hasn't been back since. "I mean no, not just dark, it was night."

Brock frowns, ever so slightly.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I don't follow."

"I mean it was night. It was still three o'clock or whatever, but it was night." Artemis takes a breath, tries to calm her thoughts. Find the words. You can do this, Artie. _Why_ was it night? "The stars," she says. "The stars were out. Like it was night time. That didn't happen here?"

"No." Brock looks thoughtful. "We've had no reports of anything else from anyone, even in the blocks closest to the woods. Whatever happened, it only happened on the hill."

"That – that doesn't make any sense."

"No," he agrees. "It doesn't."

He rests his elbows on the table. His forearms are tanned and bruised with handling rock-types that don't quite know their own strength. Above them, his face is carefully soothing, questioning.

"So it suddenly turned to night," he says, "and then this light appeared?"

She shakes her head.

"It was already there. I think. We heard the music first, and then we just … followed it. We didn't know what else to do. When we got closer, we saw a light, and then when we got out of the woods we saw what it was."

"It being this 'spire' you mentioned?"

"Yeah. That." Artemis tries to take a sip of her tea, but as soon as she tries to lift it she can feel the tremble in her hands threatening to tip it, and she puts it down again. "I'm sorry, I really don't know what we did―"

"You're not being accused of anything," says Brock firmly, looking somewhat embarrassed. "Uh – sorry if that's the impression I've given. I'm just trying to figure out what happened. One of my trainers is in the hospital and his pokémon is missing."

Artemis closes her eyes. Yes. Leroy. That's her fault. She couldn't find him. She should have done, she knows, and if she was any bloody good she _would_ have done, but after the spire she could barely even walk straight, and it was so hard to get Jerry to do anything …

"I'm sorry," she says again, feeling the inadequacy of it keenly. "I couldn't find him. All I could do was―"

"You did the right thing," Brock tells her. "There's nothing in those woods that poses any danger to Leroy, believe me. He can look after himself, and I've got the bruises on my shins to prove it. You got Jerry back safely, and that's the important thing."

He sounds like he means it, although also like he's struggling to remain professional in the midst of a conversation he doesn't know how to have. Artemis would very much like to believe him, but she isn't sure she can. The spire was called, it said. Who else was even there to call it? She must have done something, must have broken some kind of rule or said something wrong, and then that awful demon lightshow turned up and put Jerry in the hospital.

"Okay," she says, hating how thin and weak her voice sounds. "Okay."

Brock does his best to smile. Artemis wonders if this kind of thing is in his job description, or if it's something that was sprung on him once he'd signed the contract. Gym Leaders are trainers first and foremost. She can't imagine any of them have much experience dealing with situations like this.

"I have one very important question," he says. "Please be honest with me here. Like I said, you're not in any trouble, we just need to know."

Artemis feels a nameless dread rising in her stomach. Nobody ever said that sentence and meant it.

"What is it?" she asks, hesitantly.

"Did it say anything to you?"

She stares. He knows. He must do. Otherwise how could he know?

"What is it?" she asks again, only this time she means something different. "You know, don't you? You've heard of it? What is it?"

Brock raises calloused hands, trying to calm her.

"Hold on a moment," he says. "I didn't say―"

"But how would you know it could speak if you didn't know?"

"I …" Brock sighs, rests his head on his fingertips. "Ah, _shit_."

Artemis watches. He's given the game away, and he knows it. Now what?

"Sorry." He pulls himself together and sits up. "Um – okay, I'll level with you, I'm not used to this cloak-and-dagger stuff. I can't tell you what it is. Before you say anything," he adds quickly, seeing her open her mouth, "let me explain, I can't tell you because I don't _know_." He takes a deep breath. "The League deals with a lot of weird stuff," he says. "Anything that seems vaguely supernatural, people assume it has to do with pokémon and shoves it in our direction. I don't know everything about all these cases – hell, about _most_ of these cases. I just know that I'm meant to ask you if it spoke to you. Okay?"

Artemis calculates. He might be telling the truth. He might not. He does seem genuinely unhappy about it, which is a point in his favour.

"Okay," she says, relaxing her shoulders a little. The shaking is starting to stop. She doesn't feel good, exactly, or even normal, but she feels a little less like she might die. This, by her standards, counts as better. "I guess that's okay."

"Thank you." Brock looks relieved. "Now, about my question …?"

"Yeah, okay. It spoke to me."

"Right. And what did it say?"

The alien voice echoes through her head, cold and distant. _Breach. Breach. Breach._

"I don't know, it didn't make much sense. Something about a breach? It called itself an omen, or a … a courier of some kind, I dunno."

"Breach," repeats Brock. "It said that?"

"Yeah." She wonders if he knows what that means. Maybe it's just another thing he's meant to ask, in the event that he ever meets anyone who's seen a colossal spire of talking red light. God. That's what happened, isn't it? It sounds so silly when she puts it that way. And yet there's nothing silly about it at all. "Yeah, it did."

"Anything else?"

"It said it was called," replies Artemis. "Someone called it. I guess I thought …"

Her hesitation speaks volumes. Brock shakes his head vigorously.

"I know what you're thinking," he tells her. "You can stop right there. It's not your fault, I can promise that. There's no way you could have called it."

His kindness is his undoing. From what he's just said, Artemis is pretty sure he must know more than he's letting on. That's okay. It just means she probably can't trust him, is all. Nothing personal, but authority figures with an interest in covering up the nightmare in the forest are not people she cares to associate with. And if he's lying, she feels a little better about pressing for more details.

"How do you know?" she asks simply. "I mean there's no way of knowing. Is there?"

Brock pauses, clearly torn. When he speaks, it's with genuine regret.

"I can't tell you," he says. "I really can't. But it wasn't you, I can promise you that."

While he speaks, he reaches under the table and fiddles with something, and then a second later takes his hand back.

"Okay," he says, in a completely different voice. "I turned off the recorder. Now look, I'm going to have to swear you to secrecy on this anyway, but this is even _more_ secret, understand? Someone else is going to come and talk to you about this, and you can't let them know I told you anything. Got it?"

"Uh – okay―"

"Good." Brock takes a breath. "I'm doing this 'cause I don't want you walking out of here thinking it was your fault," he tells her. "And I'm _only_ going to tell you enough for you to be sure of that. So take it from me, off the record – I think I know why this happened, and I think I'm going to be having some strong fucking words with the people responsible, none of whom are you." He looks deadly serious. "I can't say any more than that."

"No, that's – that's okay," says Artemis, a little shakily. She feels like someone has just drawn back the curtains on a window looking out onto something strange and terrible, and just as quickly let it fall again. She feels – well, she doesn't really know how she feels. Unstable. Uncertain. Fearful. All of those things, and none. "Thanks. I – I know that you're taking a risk …"

Brock shakes his head, waves her gratitude away.

"It's fine," he says. "What am I going to do, let you think that _you_ did it? You've had a hard enough day without that." He sighs. "Okay. Let's, uh, get back into character for the tape. Last thing I said was―"

"'It wasn't you, I can promise you that.'"

He looks impressed.

"Nice one. Ready? Turning it back on in three … two … one."

Artemis sniffs.

"Okay," she mumbles. "Okay."

"All right." Brock has gone back to his professional voice. "Sorry to keep pressing the issue, but is that all it said to you?"

"Yes. Something about being a courier, but I think I said that."

"Yes, you did." Brock clears his throat. "Nearly done now. Do you remember what happened to make it leave?"

"No. It just … went. Said something like it was called, and that it would stay till it was _un_ called. Whatever that means."

Brock nods as if this is not complete nonsense.

"Okay," he says. "Well, that's very helpful. I'm sorry to have taken so much of your time."

She shakes her head. This is much easier, now she knows that she and Brock are just performing for the recorder.

"Oh, it's fine. I want to help."

"We appreciate it. _I_ appreciate it." Brock riffles through the papers he has in front of him and pulls out a sheaf. "I'm going to have to ask you to sign this," he says. "Read it through, of course, but what it says is essentially that you're going to keep this secret. The League will have to mount a full investigation and we'd rather not spread panic before we need to."

Artemis takes the proffered contract and stares at it. _I, the undersigned, do undertake_ … It goes on and on, in complex legalese that makes her tired to read.

"I don't think anyone would believe me anyway," she says, turning the page. She lets Brock think that this is because what she saw was impossible, rather than because anyone she might tell would assume she was hallucinating.

"You're probably right," he agrees. "We will of course arrange for you to get that starter pokémon too, don't worry about that. Something good. Courtesy of the League."

Artemis looks up sharply.

"'Something good'?"

"Yes." Brock shrugs. "It's the least we can do."

It sounds like a bribe to her, but okay. She's going to have to sign the contract anyway. She might as well take their pokémon too. All she's hearing here is that they really, _really_ want her to keep quiet.

"Well," she says. "That's very kind of you."

"Hey, we were all rookies once. Nobody wants to spoil the start of anyone's trainer journey."

She finishes reading through the contract. It seems okay, to her inexpert eyes; she doesn't seem to be signing away her firstborn child or anything. She asks for a pen, and awkwardly scrawls a signature that she hasn't quite got the hang of yet.

"Thanks," says Brock, taking the contract back. "I think that's everything then. Come on, we can leave."

As he gets up, he makes a subtle motion that Artemis would have missed had she not been looking for it, and flicks the recorder off again. He holds the door for her, and she abandons her undrunk tea to follow him out.

"Like I told you, someone's going to come to speak to you about this," he says, as they walk down the corridor back to the lobby. "League, but not anyone you know. Tell them what you told me, and everything will be fine."

"Coming to … wait, d'you mean to my house?"

Brock stops, raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah. Is that an issue?"

Artemis feels a deep, gut-wrenching shame tighten its coils around her belly. She'd almost forgotten this. She'd almost forgotten what makes her different.

"I'm not … out to my parents," she mutters. Each word has to be forced out, like toads crawling up from her throat between her teeth. "Even my surname is – I mean they don't … can I come here instead?"

Brock hesitates, flustered.

"Um, uh, sure, I guess so," he says, nodding a little too much and a little too fast. "I'll get a message to the right people. We'll call you in. Do we have your mobile number?"

Artemis nods.

"Good. Good." Brock starts walking again, turning his face towards the lobby to hide his embarrassment. "We can sort out your pokémon then, too. We'll have several prepared. I'm sure at least one will accept you as a partner."

"Okay. When is this going to be?"

"Not sure. Soon." Brock opens the door to the lobby and motions for her to go first. "Within two or three days at the very most. I'm going to lean on them as much as I can, and I think they'll want to speak to you as soon as possible, anyway."

They come to a halt by the lobby doors. It's still bright out, though several hours have passed. June is in full swing.

"So yes," says Brock. "We'll call you. Or of course you can call or drop by if you need anything. This is, well. This is serious. It's lucky that neither of you were badly hurt."

"I'm not sure I'd say Jerry got away without being hurt."

"Yeah, I said that neither of you were _badly_ hurt." He nods meaningfully. "It could have been a lot worse. You did good getting Jerry out as quickly as you did."

"Oh." Artemis blinks. "Thanks. Um – will you let me know if – when you find Leroy?"

Brock looks surprised, but nods.

"Sure," he says. "I've got Edwin out there now searching for him. We should find him by the time it gets dark. If nothing else, he'll come home to be fed."

"Okay." Artemis tries a smile. It just about sticks. "Thanks, Mr Chambers."

Brock winces.

" _Brock_ ," he corrects her. "Please. I'm not old yet."

"All right," she says, half-laughing. "Thanks, Brock."

"Better." He smiles. "Are you all right to get home from here? We can call you a cab."

"No, I'm fine, thanks."

"Sure? It's the League's money, not mine."

"I'm sure. I need to, uh, stop off somewhere on the way, anyway."

Possibly he sees what she means there. He looks embarrassed all over again and rushes his goodbyes. Artemis returns them as best she can while stuck on the wish that she hadn't said that, and then she leaves, out into the cool of early evening.

She checks her phone and sighs. Six missed calls from home. _This_ is going to be fun to explain.

Well, whatever. After everything else that's happened today, this really can't be all that hard.

* * *

Artemis has a bad night, a really bad one, like she hasn't had in a long time. Dealing with her parents is fine, just a matter of lies and what trans woman _isn't_ good at lying to her parents, right, but hours after in the dark of her room the ghost people come to visit.

They are big and shapeless in their bulky white suits. They crowd at the foot of her bed, staring with grey eyes, silent but for the hissing of their respirators.

They point, and through her fear Artemis remembers what she's been taught, that they need her eyes and ears to live, and so she goes instead to her fingers, concentrating on what she can feel and touch: the smooth cool of the bedsheet, the grainy wood of the cabinet, the metal of the bedstead. She finds things she knows are real, groups them by senses: bed, cabinet, wardrobe, sight; car, siren, wind, hearing.

It won't banish them, but it lets her ride out the storm. Eventually, the ghost people have to shamble back into her subconscious and leave her alone.

She's relieved, but only until she falls asleep and has a nightmare about the spire. This isn't the kind of night that does things by halves.

* * *

Emilia was absolutely right. It _was_ an all-nighter, and to make matters worse she had to do it all with the after-effects of being teleported halfway across Kanto churning up a storm in her guts and knocking out her sense of balance. Humans aren't really meant to be subjected to massively powerful fields of psychic energy, she decides, although the fact that she is the kind of person who gets seasick just watching the waves might also have something to do with it.

Still, she got through it all: the briefing with Lorelei, the emergency meeting of the Elite Four afterwards, the drafting of the initial steps to be taken in the morning to contain the matter. She arrived at the Plateau at quarter past eleven and didn't get out again until after six, a massive bunch of confidential documents in her bag and the beginnings of a headache thumping at her temples. She thought about getting some sleep on the flight down to Pewter, but there was too much to read.

And very interesting reading it was, too. Emilia is beginning to get a sense of why they called her. She's been working with the League for over a decade now, and directly with Lorelei for the whole seven years she's had the Elite Four position; when something like this happens, you want people you can trust, and for Lorelei, that evidently means Emilia Santangelo. By the time the plane touches down on the airstrip north of Pewter, bouncing across the tarmac in that godawful way small aircraft do, Emilia is starting to put the pieces together. Lorelei's been careful, obviously; she's technically the head of what the League coyly refers to as 'anomalous resources', and though she's as friendly with her as ever she won't offer her one word more than she has to. But she's given her enough for Emilia to know that this breach event, as everyone keeps referring to it, is not an isolated occurrence.

It's a worrying thought. Whoever transcribed the interview with the witness made it very clear that she was terrified. And while nobody has given Emilia any concrete information on what 'breach' means, exactly, the fact that this entity described itself as an omen really doesn't bode well.

More is coming, she's sure of it, and whatever it is, it definitely can't be good. But it's not her job to fight this stuff, just to make sure that it stays under wraps, so she tries her best to leave the worrying to Lorelei and her anomalous resources and concentrates on the task at hand.

The first order of business should be to call the witness, Artemis Apanchomene, but it's still only quarter past seven and though Emilia is used to irregular hours, she doesn't believe in inflicting them on other people, especially if it's a Sunday and the person in question is recovering from witnessing some sort of cosmic abomination. That will have to wait until later. Instead she takes a cab to the Gym, which, after a moment to compose herself in the cool of the early morning air, she enters.

Brock is waiting in the lobby, looking like he hasn't slept all night. Neither has Emilia, but she knows how to hide it, and she can see when he stumbles up out of his chair that she must look disconcertingly competent to him. She smiles, trying to set him at his ease, and shakes his hand.

"Good morning, Mr Chambers," she says. "I'm Emilia Santangelo, legal advisor to the League. Lorelei should have told you I was coming?"

"Yeah." Brock blinks the tiredness from his eyes. He looks very young, although Emilia has noticed that she thinks that of more and more people these days. He can't be more than twenty-five. "I'm – well, you know, Brock. Are you a legal advisor or a _legal advisor_ , if you catch my meaning?"

Emilia raises her eyebrows, and calculates her next move.

"Officially, the first one," she says. "Unofficially? Well, it's up for debate." That gets a smile, which is a good start. By all accounts Brock is not a very political kind of guy. He'll appreciate it if he feels she's being as honest as she can. "This is Nadia, my assistant."

Nadia chirps. She is a natu, currently sitting in her usual position on Emilia's shoulder – a spot she has occupied for so long now that all of Emilia's jackets have dents in the right shoulder.

"Nice to meet you both." Brock stifles a yawn. "Sorry. Been up all night. Lot of phone calls to make, and after I was done it wasn't worth going home for the ten minutes till you arrived."

"Yes, I understand. I don't think anyone at the Plateau has slept either." Emilia looks around. There's no one else here; most of the regular staff must not be in yet. Has Brock been sitting here alone all night? Poor guy. "I won't take much of your time," she says. "I know you must be exhausted."

"I'm all right. Just want this over with."

She nods.

"I understand. First of all, I've brought the pokémon you requested. If you could see that someone looks after them until Ms Apanchomene arrives, I'd be very grateful."

"Right, sure." The act of taking the poké balls from her seems to wake him up a bit, and he invites her in with an offer of tea or coffee. Emilia accepts, and follows him down the corridor to the back of the Gym. The balls are handed off to a burly man whose name she doesn't catch, and then she and Brock are left alone in his office, a small room with several geodude sleeping in a heap in the corner.

"Sit down, sit down," says Brock, and she does. She smiles, and thinks very strongly, _are you ready?_

Nadia rustles her wings unobtrusively, and Emilia takes her notes out of her bag.

"Now, Brock," she says, judging correctly that he would prefer she use his forename. "I've read your report, and a transcript of the witness' statement, but I need to ask a few more questions."

He looks faintly surprised, but otherwise agreeable.

"I thought I gave a pretty full account of everything," he says. "I'm happy to answer you, of course, but would you mind telling me what exactly you're looking for here?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure myself," lies Emilia. "You know how it is – you get your instructions, you're damned if you can make any sense of them, but Lorelei comes down on you like a ton of bricks if you screw it up." She shrugs. "I just know what I'm supposed to ask, is all."

Brock sighs.

"Yeah, I get that, believe me." He rubs his forehead. "Okay. Shoot."

"All right. First of all, I'd just like you to talk me through your report, from the moment Ms Apanchomene and Mr DeWitt arrived to the moment that they left."

This is simple enough. Brock launches into his explanation, sometimes wandering in his fatigue, sometimes needing to be prodded back on track. Nadia doesn't pick up anything here, but Emilia isn't expecting her to. The only purpose to this question is to get Brock comfortable and slightly bored, ready to be asked something more important. Emilia listens, nods, asks for clarification that she doesn't need, and makes a show of taking notes.

"Thank you," she says, when she's done. "Now – what can you tell me about Mr DeWitt?"

"Jerry?" Brock blinks. "He's just a kid. Did well in the League challenge and the battling circuit, and now he's an apprentice here. Gym scholarship, you know? We put him through school and he works here part-time."

"He's going to work here afterwards?"

"For a few years, sure. After that, it's up to him. I think he'll go far if he stays, but it's early days. Look, he _definitely_ doesn't have anything to do with what happened―"

"I know, I know," says Emilia. "I'm not claiming that he does. I just have to ask, Brock. You know how it is."

"Yeah. Right. Sorry." He sighs again. "I'm a little on edge. He's still in the hospital."

 _Nadia,_ thinks Emilia, _make a note: visit him later_. The natu shuffles her feet in acknowledgement, and Emilia continues aloud:

"Yes, I'd heard. I'm sorry."

"Thanks." Brock shakes his head. "Sorry. Where were we?"

"We were done with that question. Next one." This is the part that matters, now that he's been softened up a little. "What can you tell me about Ms Apanchomene?"

"Hm? I really don't think she has anything to do with this, either. She was just here to get her first pokémon. Doesn't have the first idea what any of this is."

 _LYING_ , says Nadia, a single solid word that lands in Emilia's mind like a heavy boulder crashing into still water.

Right, then. Just as she thought. Nadia's done her part; now it's up to her to figure out what exactly the lie is here.

"Is that so?" she asks. "Do you know anything about her background?"

Brock frowns.

"Well, no," he says. "But she was scared out of her mind. You got the interview, right? If she'd had any kind of idea what she was looking at … no, no, she couldn't have known anything."

Emilia waits for a second, but Nadia does not respond. Okay, truth then. Try a different approach.

"And you didn't tell her anything?" she asks.

"Are you kidding? Of course not. She was traumatised enough already. I didn't need to go making anything worse. And anyway, you know that stuff's all top secret," he adds, a little too late.

 _HERE_.

Emilia is inclined to agree. Brock's first instinct seems to have been protecting the kid, to which his duty to the League came second place. That's not a bad thing, exactly, and she doesn't think he's done anything terrible, but something might have come out that shouldn't have. Something that requires her expert attention.

"All right," she says. "Like I said, I just have to ask." She scans her notes and goes back to the fake questions. "Last one," she tells him. "I've got the names of the ambulance and police crew who responded to the emergency call. I'd like to know if there's anything you can tell me about them …"

The questioning goes on, but the interrogation is already over. Emilia speaks and listens on autopilot, her brain already considering next steps. She'll need to investigate the hillside where it happened, of course, but that's more Nadia's job than hers, and that can wait for a little while yet. First, she figures, it's about time she met this Artemis Apanchomene.

* * *

Brock's estimate was conservative. Artemis gets the call at ten am on Sunday morning, just three hours after she dragged herself out of bed to sit in the kitchen and pick weakly at the internet like a kid at a scab.

"Hello?" she asks, moving to the front of the house where the signal's better. "Who's this?"

"Good morning, sir. Is Artemis Apanchomene there?"

Something winds around Artemis' chest and yanks itself tight. Her breath catches and her cheeks boil, and through the fog of shame she reminds herself to expect this, that this is what she signed up for. Better get used to it, Artie. You're looking at the rest of your life, right here.

"Th-that's me," she manages, doing her best not to stammer and finding that her best isn't good enough. "I'm―" She glances at her mother reading on the sofa. Definitely within earshot. "I mean, that's me."

"Oh." The speaker's shock is palpable. Artemis forces herself to pay attention to it, to memorise the way it seems to ripple through the silence. She has to learn these things. If she's going to prove she can do this, she has to learn. "Uh … sorry about that. My name is Emilia Santangelo. I'm with the League."

"Oh," says Artemis. She doesn't know why she's surprised, but she is, a little flutter of unease stirring in her guts and rising to mingle with the rest of her discomfort. "Okay, so this is about yesterday."

"Yes. I understand you've requested to meet at the Gym. I'm here now, as it happens. Is this a suitable time for you?"

"Um, sure. That's fine. I'll come over right away."

"That would be very kind of you. We'll speak more in person, then. I'll see you soon."

"Right. Bye."

"Goodbye."

Artemis lowers her phone and fiddles with her knuckle, trying to settle her nerves. It's okay, right? Yes, it's okay. Emilia is intimidatingly well-spoken, but all she has to do is tell her what she told Brock and then it's over. She gets a pokémon and she can forget any of this ever happened.

Except that you can't forget something like that, can you? Never. That stays with you. Even leaving aside the nightmares, it was so … _impossible_. It shouldn't have been able to happen, and it did, and somehow Brock wasn't surprised. Something's going on, she's sure of it. Maybe it isn't her mystery to solve, and maybe she doesn't _want_ it to be – but it wouldn't hurt to see what she could get out of Emilia. Right? It's not like she'll give away anything really important, anyway. This is her job, after all.

"Who was that?" asks her mother, and Artemis blinks as she surfaces from the depths of her thoughts.

"Oh, the Gym," she says. "Someone cancelled and they have an open slot today, so they offered it to me."

"You think you'll catch something this time?"

Artemis tries to convince herself that this is not intended to hurt her, but it's a difficult argument to make. You're hearing things, Artie. She's just concerned for you. Sure, that's one possibility. She might also be hinting that Artemis should know when to quit.

"Yeah, I think so," she says, keeping her voice bright and cheerful. "Anyway, they're waiting on me, so I better go now."

"All right, ――. Good luck!"

"Thanks. See you later."

She makes the trip again, to Chelle's ("Hey, Artie, you okay? You seemed kinda out of it yesterday"; "I'll tell you later, Chelle, I gotta go") and to the Gym, and today she finds the lobby quiet and empty. Someone is logged in at the computer on the front desk, but nobody's sitting in the chair. Artemis looks around, nervous, and sees a woman in a dark suit approaching with a welcoming smile and a natu on her shoulder.

"Hello," she says. "Ms Apanchomene?"

"Yeah. Uh, just Artemis is fine."

"Of course. Emilia Santangelo." She shakes Artemis' hand. Her nails are perfect burgundy rectangles. Artemis' fingers feel thick and clumsy against hers. "I'm a legal advisor for the Indigo League. This is my assistant, Nadia."

Chirp, goes the natu. She has that unsettling stare that natu always seem to have, like she's looking right through you. Artemis smiles briefly at her and returns her attention to Emilia, who is just as intimidating but much less spooky.

"Hi," she says. "So … I mean I get that this is about yesterday, but what exactly is it that you need from me?"

"Just some questions," replies Emilia. "I promise I won't keep you long. I know you spoke to Brock yesterday, and honestly I'm not expecting to find out anything new, but, well, the Elite Four pay my wages, so if they want me asking questions that's what they get." She smiles again. Her teeth are perfectly white and perfectly even, between two perfectly lipsticked lips. She's so full of charm and poise she's practically leaking it onto the floor, and all that grace sets Artemis' nerves on edge, despite her friendly demeanour.

"Okay," she says, nervously. "Ask away, I guess."

Emilia takes her back down the corridor that leads to the room where Brock questioned her yesterday. She wonders where he is. Maybe out investigating the hill up in the woods. From what he said, it seemed like that sort of thing came under League jurisdiction.

"You're just starting your trainer journey?" asks Emilia.

"Yeah. I mean, I was going to, yesterday, and then … everything happened."

Emilia gets that look on her face that adults get when something reminds them of their journeys. A little wistful, a little self-deprecating.

"I remember mine," she says. "My starter was an oddish. Effie. Still have her now, actually. She'll be waiting for me to come home, once this is all wrapped up."

She says it like this is the kind of thing you sort out in a day. Artemis isn't convinced. Whatever this is, whatever breach might be, she predicts that that spire is going to have Emilia running around for some time.

"You think it'll be sorted soon?" she asks her.

"Hm? Oh, definitely. The League deals with all kinds of strangeness on a daily basis. Here. After you."

She opens the door to what Artemis can't help thinking of the interrogation room, and Artemis takes up the same seat she occupied yesterday. Emilia sits opposite her, and though Artemis watches her hands closely she does not put either of them below the table, not even for a moment. This conversation, it seems, is off the record.

"Okay. Can I offer you anything to drink? Tea, coffee? All right, then."

Emilia puts a notebook on the table in front of her and uncaps a fountain pen. Artemis watches, vaguely aware that something is happening behind the scenes but unable to understand what or why. She looks at Emilia more closely, and sees – well, nothing. She just sees a woman, thirties, dark-skinned, enviable eyebrows. Whatever she's looking for, Emilia isn't showing it.

"Are you ready to begin?" she asks. Artemis nods. "All right. Now, I've been brought up to speed on the statement you made to Brock yesterday, but I'd like you to go over that again for me, now that you've had some time to recover from the shock of it."

This doesn't seem unreasonable. Artemis wonders if maybe she's just being paranoid. It's certainly possible; she _has_ been paranoid in the past. The ghost people are proof enough of that.

"Um, okay," she says. "So, the Gym does like appointments with trainers to help you catch your first pokémon, right, and I came in yesterday for one of those …"

She can see the value in repeating it. Her story's a lot more coherent this time, without the panic vibrating up and down her nervous system. It's still frightening, and she's definitely not going to stop dreaming about it any time soon, but it's manageable. Slowly, it's starting to make the change from 'incoherent nightmare' to 'a scary thing that happened'.

Emilia is an attentive listener. She asks questions, makes notes and offers sympathy and breaks when Artemis gets to the worst parts. Some of this is her professionalism, sure, but it can't all be. Artemis finds herself warming to her a little.

"All right," she says, when Artemis is done. "Thank you, that's been very helpful. I appreciate you taking the time to talk about this." She turns a page in her notebook, inspects something for a moment, and looks back at Artemis. "That's most of what I need from you," she tells her. "All I want to ask you now is a little about the Gym response. Obviously we need to make sure that our Leaders and their staff are equipped to handle events like these in the event that anything similar ever happens again, and as an outside witness your take on the situation would be very valuable to us."

"Uh, sure, I guess." It's comforting to know that the League is taking this seriously, Artemis supposes. She had a vague suspicion that maybe no one was going to believe her. "What d'you wanna know?"

"How would you describe Brock's handling of everything?" asks Emilia. "Just to be clear, we're not looking for evidence that he's not doing his job. We have every confidence in him, it's just helpful for us to know what people outside the League think."

"He was great," replies Artemis, honestly. "He really was, he … didn't have to be that nice, but he was. I don't know what else he could have done."

Emilia nods.

"Mm-hm. What did he do exactly that was so good?"

Artemis pauses. Is it her, or … no, it must be her. Look at Emilia's face. You're imagining things, Artie. This is just some kinda ridiculous review thing that the League has foisted on her and she's trying to get it out of the way so she can get on with the real investigation.

Still. No need to let her know that Brock switched off the recorder for a while. She doesn't want to get him in any kind of trouble.

"We-ell," she says slowly, "he was just really … patient. He seemed like he really wanted to help. I guess I felt kinda responsible, and he went out of his way to assure me I wasn't."

There. The truth, but with all the incriminating bits cut out. She's actually quite proud of how she phrased it, especially with that natu staring and creeping her out like that.

"Okay," says Emilia, nodding some more. "Well, thank you, Artemis, that's very informative." She smiles, and Artemis sees real kindness in it. "That should be all we need from you. Now we have it, we can get back to the really important issue here: your trainer journey."

Artemis starts. She'd almost forgotten why she came to the Gym in the first place. It all comes back to her at once, the Big Choice, the new life, the escape route, and suddenly she feels almost physically sick with the desire to get going. God. Just let her get _out_ of this damn town already. Away from breach, away from spires, away from the cold mausoleum of home.

"Hah." She scratches her head. "I kinda forgot about that. Did you …?"

"Yes, I brought the pokémon down from the Plateau with me." Emilia's smiling again now, at the expression on her face she thinks. Pleased, and indulgent, but not in a patronising way. She likes her a little more for it. "They're being looked after in the other room. If you'd like to come with me …"

Well of _course_ she would, even if she feels like she's a little too old to display her excitement that openly, so up Artemis gets and follows Emilia into a different room, some sort of practice court with reinforced walls and crash mats. There's a guy in here who introduces himself as Edwin, another of Brock's trainers, and he indicates a row of poké balls laid out on a bench. Nice ones, too – the fancy commemorative kind, white and sleek with red bands.

"Just got 'em all back in there," he says, scratching at what looks like a recent burn on his forearm. "Tried to keep 'em occupied, but one stepped on another's tail and things got a bit, uh, rowdy."

"Thanks, Edwin," says Emilia. "Maybe let them out one at a time, then? Give Artemis a chance to find one she likes and that likes her."

It's time. Nine years late, but it's time. Artemis steps forward, and knows that in this moment she is, after nearly two decades, finally doing something for herself.

As far as feelings go, it's a pretty good one.

* * *

Artemis' parents are less than thrilled with her choice.

"I've never heard of that before," says her dad, peering suspiciously at the foot-long newt clinging to her jacket. "What did you say it was called again?"

"Salandit. Her name is Brauron."

"And you caught this?"

"No, they'd got some more starters in stock."

"So you chose it?" asks her mother. "Wasn't there anything less … slimy?"

There was, as it happens. Brock had said 'something good', and he meant it; Emilia brought a sneasel, a ralts, a petilil, a squirtle and a damn _dratini_ alongside the salandit, in a collection of pokémon from all around the world and of varying degrees of rarity. It was a difficult choice, but the pokémon themselves made it easier. Neither the sneasel nor the petilil displayed the slightest bit of interest in her, and while the ralts seemed to like her he kept dipping into her head in way that made her uncomfortable; Artemis has enough trouble keeping her brain in order without any outside interference. The dratini was too intimidating, and besides a pokémon like that is a hell of a commitment, with a lifespan running into the hundreds of years. That left just the squirtle and the salandit, both of which looked, as far as a turtle and a sly-eyed salamander can, eager to come with her.

And in the end there just wasn't any choice at all. The salandit is so small, and the dark colours of her back are marbled so beautifully. Sure, the squirtle was cute too, but Brauron is something special, Artemis could tell right away.

"Well, yeah," she says to her mother. "But this is the one I liked. And she isn't really slimy, anyway." She peels Brauron gently from her jacket and feels her coil her tail around her wrist, warm and dry. "Here, you can feel her if you like."

"I think I might pass." Artemis is a little hurt by the look on her face. She had an idea that her mother didn't particularly like things that creep and crawl, but she didn't know it went this deep.

Brauron plants her forefeet (with all their tiny, delicate, impossibly cute little fingers) on Artemis' knuckle, raises herself up and looks fearlessly at each of Artemis' parents in turn. Her eyes are a deep purple, gleaming with a clever light Artemis doesn't think you get in regular amphibians. This is the kind of salamander that _schemes_.

Artemis can't stop looking at her. The marbled slabs of black and grey, the red sheen of the line down her tail. She almost glows with warmth and life.

She's beautiful, and Artemis is quickly remembering her other reason for going on this journey. It's not just an escape, is it? There's the old enthusiasm too, dormant for nine years now but still there. She's going to travel Kanto with this amazing little creature, and it's going to be like nothing she's ever done before.

"You're really doing it, aren't you," says her dad, and something in his voice makes her look up at him from Brauron. He looks tired, and a little surprised. She realises with a jolt that on some level he was never expecting this day to actually arrive.

"Yeah," she says, bringing Brauron back to her chest, letting her climb onto her jacket to hang like a little furnace against her heart. "I am."

He sighs.

"I guess you're thinking of leaving soon, then," he says. They hadn't agreed a date. Artemis had been too focused on sorting out the paperwork and the pokémon to finalise that particular detail.

"I guess so," she replies. "Haven't really think about it."

Her parents look at each other. Artemis isn't sure what that expression is, but she is suddenly aware that despite everything they really do still care. Even if that care might not survive the revelation she is hiding in her bag, in the clothes and make-up concealed from view by just a thin layer of fabric.

She feels silly for forgetting. It's part of why she's going, isn't it? Because she can't bear to make things worse. She knows their politics, knows how deep the hatred goes, and she knows that if she tells them what she really is, what remains between them and her is over.

She did consider that maybe she could change their minds. If they knew they had a daughter … but no. She knows, deep down, that she's really not all that convincing.

Her mother reaches out and puts a hand on her arm.

"All right," she sighs. "Do you need any help packing?"

Artemis shakes her head. Given what's going in her bag, she needs to do this alone.

"No, I'm okay." She hesitates. "I … might go tomorrow."

"That soon?"

"Yeah. There doesn't seem to be much point waiting around, right? I have a year, I need to make the most of it."

"I guess not," agrees her dad, slow, sad. "I guess not."

Later, up in her room, Artemis sits among the scattered remnants of her life, taking them apart and finding ways to fit the parts that matter into her backpack, and halfway through she stops and lets the skirt she's holding slip from her hands, overcome by a sudden wave of apathy. She looks at Brauron, perched on her dresser like a gargoyle, tasting the air with a long, dark tongue. She thinks of her parents downstairs, their faces and their tired, sagging shoulders.

It's worth it, right? It has to be.

She takes a deep breath, and blinks back a tear, and keeps on packing.


	3. 03: A Man of Wealth and Taste

**03: A MAN OF WEALTH AND TASTE**

"Well, thanks for your time," says Emilia. "Someone will be in touch."

She smiles and shakes hands and gently extracts herself from the room, trying to disguise her eagerness to leave. Jerry and his parents are having a hard time. They deserve her compassion, even if there's been a whole lot of talking and very little information. Jerry himself doesn't remember much, which she feels is probably for the best, and his parents, worried sick, latched onto Emilia as an obvious authority figure and hammered her relentlessly with questions. She evaded them all easily enough, of course, but this kind of thing always feels wrong. You never feel good hiding stuff from anxious family members. Hence her desire to escape as soon as possible.

On her way out of the ward, Emilia runs through what she did manage to get from them. Firstly and most importantly, confirmation that Jerry doesn't know anything he shouldn't; if he does start remembering, Brock should be able to keep him from talking to people about it. He can handle the business of getting the family to sign the contracts when things are a little more settled. Secondly, Jerry is displaying symptoms of minor radiation poisoning. From Emilia's reading, she knows that this is something that can indeed be caused by a breach event, although the documents she was given are infuriatingly nonspecific when it comes to case studies. As far as she understands it, if she can't find any trace of ionising radiation at the site itself, that's a good indication that this actually is breach.

Which brings her to her next task: visiting the scene. She's contained the information, and now she needs to live up to the second part of her job description. She's done the legal adviser bit. Now it's time for the investigation. Lorelei will want to know, one, if this really is what everyone thinks it is, and two, if so, how it happened.

Emilia sighs. This bit could get prickly. Local law enforcement often doesn't like it when the national agencies start butting in. People have a certain amount of respect for the League, as the oldest part of the Kantan government, but even so, Emilia has faced more than a little hostility in the course of her work. With the stereotypes about Pewter insularity, she has a feeling this is going to be one of those times.

At least she got something useful from Artemis. She wasn't what Emilia was expecting; when she read 'rookie trainer' in the notes attached to the interview transcript, she was imagining a ten-year-old, not a young woman nearly twice that – and she was much smarter than Emilia had been counting on, too. She covered for Brock like a pro, and without Nadia Emilia isn't sure she'd have figured out where the lie was. But she did, which means she has something to wave at Brock next time she sees him. Whatever he told Artemis, Emilia needs to know it.

This thought is a smokescreen, of course. What Emilia is really thinking is that she is crass and insensitive and shouldn't have jumped to conclusions on the phone. She of all people ought to know that that kind of assumption only gets people hurt. Artemis, poor kid, has more than enough to deal with right now without being casually misgendered into the bargain.

Forty minutes later, after navigating the clinical labyrinth of hospital corridors and the unhelpfully signposted nature trails in the woods, Emilia walks out from beneath the trees onto a grassy mound, cordoned off with police tape and crawling with cops. A couple detach themselves from the general mass and move towards her as she approaches.

"Sorry, ma'am, this area is," one begins, and then stops as she raises the card.

"Emilia Santangelo, legal advisor to the Indigo League with special investigatory powers," she says. "Talk to your boss. I think you'll find I'm expected."

The cops glance at each other, and then one goes off while the other stays to keep an eye on her. A few moments later, the first one returns, trailing a haggard-looking man in his early forties.

"Miss Santangelo?" he asks. "Detective Inspector Albert Harkness. The chief said someone would be coming."

He sounds unhappy about it, but then, he looks like the kind of guy who's unhappy about most things. Emilia decides to give him one chance.

" _Ms_ Santangelo," she corrects. "I'm here representing the League's interest."

"That's what I said, isn't it?" asks Harkness belligerently, and Emilia watches his one chance go up in flames. Okay. She's been visibly non-Kantan in this country for long enough to know an asshole when she sees one. Fortunately, her League position means she doesn't _have_ to be nice.

"Just tell me what you've found," she says, stepping past the police line. "I assume your own forensics team has gone over the site?"

"Right," replies Harkness grudgingly, following. "The peak of the hill is scorched, but footprints in the soot put two people there, one of whom fell over, and one pokémon. We're not sure what."

"Rhyhorn?"

Harkness blinks.

"Could be," he concedes. "The trail of broken grass is pretty wide. You know who was up here?"

"Yes," says Emilia simply. "What else have you found?"

Harkness' unhappiness congeals for a minute into open anger, but he hides it quickly enough, turning away to gesture up at the hilltop and the white-clad forensics team scouring it like ants in search of crumbs.

"Not a lot. The damage to the grass doesn't match any known source. Forensics say it was disintegrated, not fired. Why the witnesses weren't I have no idea."

All right. This sounds like breach; in the files Emilia read on the plane, disintegration of nearby matter – sometimes including parts of humans who got too close – was listed as a known side effect. Still, someone who's helped cover up as much of Kanto's weirdness as she has knows there's more than one way to trigger molecular disintegration. A powerful psyshock combined with certain rare poison- or ghost-type moves, for instance, can result in each destabilising effect multiplying the other, and before you know it you've got yourself a disintegration field spreading right through a building. Emilia saw that one in that case out in the sticks near Lavender, and the grass there looked much the same as here.

"Okay," she says. "What else?"

"The porygon scan picked up some sort of radiation," replies Harkness. "Very low, not dangerous."

"Which you might get from a sufficiently powerful fire attack. Except …"

"Except that there doesn't seem to have been any fire, yes." Harkness glowers. He doesn't seem to appreciate her having jumped in halfway through his thought. "We've done a psy trace, too. Nothing doing. Just a lot of static."

Emilia nods.

"What did you use?"

"Slowbro. Our handler is Psy Officer Walker, over there." Harkness nods at a woman standing a little way off, talking to one of the forensics officers. Something pink and shiny that might be an otter and might be a newt is sitting on her foot, staring into space and occasionally scratching the scars around the base of the spiral shell clamped to its tail. Not the best pokémon for the job, but Emilia doesn't doubt that it gets results. The problem is whether or not it can communicate them effectively.

"All right," she says. "Anything else, Detective?"

"That's all we've got," he replies. "Honestly, I don't know what else you're expecting to find here, Miss Santangelo. We've run the tests, and―"

"You just let me worry about that," she says sweetly. "Thanks. You've been very helpful. I'm going to run a few tests of my own.

She leaves him glaring and walks up the hill to where the scorch marks begin. One of the forensics specialists tries to stop her, but she glances back at Harkness and he, with an obvious show of reluctance, nods.

"She's League," he calls. "Here to do tests or something."

The specialist gives her a concerned look.

"We've run―"

"Yes, of course," says Emilia. "I'm not here to impugn your good work. I just have some other things to check."

He backs off, and Emilia takes a breath.

"Okay, Nadia," she says, holding out her hand for the natu to perch on. "Ready?"

She gets a chirp in response, and Nadia hops across to her finger, where she turns her unsettling stare on the ground before her, the grass and mingled grey-black dust of disintegrated vegetation. A second or two later, a faint purple glow begins to rise like smoke from her feathers, and Emilia closes her eyes.

There's a second of darkness, and then the hillside reappears before her, drawn in lines of purple and silver against the dark. The police are gone, and instead she sees Artemis standing in front of her, staggering, arms raised to shield her eyes. Jerry is next to her, caught mid-fall, face turned away.

"I told you we did a trace already," calls Harkness, but she can barely hear him. There's some other sound here. Something very faint, almost inaudible in fact, but there. Grinding. Like a knife being sharpened.

Emilia turns her attention to the hilltop now, almost dreading what she might see, and relieved more than disappointed to find that there's nothing there. Nadia has tried to look into this part of the past, obviously, has made an attempt to render _something_ in the usual glimmering translucent lines, but something's gone wrong. The purple and silver have bled and pooled into blotchy squares, zigzag lines of pixellated interference jumbling the image.

"Nadia?" she asks, staring. "What am I looking at here?"

 _FURRET THING_ , answers Nadia crossly. Apparently furret are natu's main predators, out in the wild, and though born among humans Nadia retains enough instinctive hostility towards them that she uses them as curses.

"That's fine," says Emilia. "You've done plenty."

 _COULD BETTER_.

"Really. It's okay." Emilia opens her eyes, letting the sunlight and the cops rush back in to take the place of the artificial night, and taps Nadia gently on the head with one finger. The purple glow fades and she turns to glare at her. "Don't give me that," says Emilia. "If you couldn't, no one could."

Nadia's not happy about it, but she returns to Emilia's shoulder without further complaint. Technically, after all, she's right: no one _could_ do better. There is perhaps one species of pokémon with better prophetic powers than natu, but the thing about xatu is that with one eye on the past and one on the future, they tend not to be paying much attention to the present, and don't notice things like their trainers asking them questions or predators sneaking up behind them. In the wild, Emilia was told by the League trainer who assigned Nadia to her, natu almost never evolve. Given the rapid pace of mutation among pokémon, in a few thousand years' time they might lose the ability to do so entirely.

"So?" asks Harkness, joining her. "It's like I said, isn't it? Nothing doing."

"We saw the witnesses," replies Emilia, giving away perhaps more than she should but unable to resist a jab at his pride. "And something on the hilltop, although I'm not sure what."

He stares.

"Walker didn't get anything," he insists.

"I'm sure Officer Walker is an excellent tracer," replies Emilia. "Perhaps she was just unlucky." Too far, she admonishes herself. You don't have to be nice, but you don't have to be outright mean, either. "Anyway, there's something else I'd like to do," she says, moving swiftly on before Harkness can think of a reply. "If you'll excuse me?"

She opens up her bag and withdraws a poké ball: electrum casing, engraved with the Indigo League insignia. It's a little showy for her tastes, but after so many centuries the tradition is here to stay; all official League pokémon, as opposed to those partnered to specific members, have to have the special ball. Nadia does, for instance, or she did before Emilia quietly lost the ugly thing on a beach holiday in the Sevii Islands.

Effie never had a ball. When Emilia needed to travel with her, she'd just tap the flowerpot and Effie would jump right in, digging down into the compost with her stubby roots. She'd often uproot herself at night to roam, but she never wandered out of sight of her trainer. There was a loyalty there, an animal trust that if she was with Emilia she would always be safe.

Emilia carefully does not think about this. She releases the ball's occupant, and makes Harkness sigh crossly.

"We did a porygon scan as well―"

"Not with this porygon," says Emilia flatly. "Beebs? Scan protocol theta, please."

BB97 is an old model – one of the original 19, in fact – and it takes a little while to respond, its polygonal head nodding back and forth while it processes her command. Emilia has worked with it before, and is used to the delayed reaction, but she can sense Harkness' contempt behind her back. It can't be helped. BB97 has undergone extensive modification at the hands of some of Lorelei's anomalous resources, and nobody wants to update the OS and risk breaking it.

"Acknowledged," it says at last, in a flat monotone like the speaking clock. "Authorisation required."

"Presenting." She holds out her hand, palm down, and BB97 scans her fingerprints with a flicker of half-visible light from its beak.

"Analysing," it says. "Registered user Emilia Santangelo acknowledged. Proceeding."

It turns and begins to trundle back and forth across the scorched earth, beak to the ground like a bloodhound following a scent. Sometimes it comes close to bumping into a forensics officer and politely asks to be excused before floating around them. Privately, Emilia thinks it's very cute, but she doesn't let it show.

"I would've thought the League would have porygon2 at least," says Harkness.

"We do," replies Emilia. "None of them outperform this one."

He stares at BB97 for a while. It is having a little difficulty pathfinding around a rock.

"Really," he says, and Emilia swallows her annoyance and forces herself to stay silent.

Eventually, BB97 is done, and it returns, agonisingly slowly, to Emilia.

"Scan complete," it says. "Results: 97% match."

Harkness looks at her.

"Match for what?" he asks.

"Thank you, Beebs," says Emilia, recalling the porygon. "And thank _you_ for your time, Detective. You'll receive some papers to sign in a little while."

She turns and leaves, and feels a rush of triumph as he asks again, and is again ignored.

The feeling doesn't last; by the time she's back in the woods, her secret smile has faded. It doesn't really matter if she's put one over on Harkness. That last test has clinched it. The witness testimony, the corruption of the trace, the profile of the fallout BB97 scanned: it all points to one thing, and that thing is breach.

I am omen, Artemis said the entity told her. If that isn't the start of something bad, then Emilia doesn't know what is.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Artemis gets another call from the Gym. Not Brock or Emilia, but she supposes they must both be pretty busy. She gets thanks for her assistance, a reminder that she can count on the League whenever, and reassurance that Leroy has been found. He came back all by himself, chewing the remnants of someone's rose bush and trailing a broken hosepipe looped around one ankle.

It's a relief, or at least one less thing to worry about. She feels there's an important distinction to be made there.

She finishes packing, slowly. There's more than she thought, but she's pretty confident she can handle it. Sometimes being big is useful after all. She fills up bottles of water and looks at maps. Each League campsite should have some kind of water pump or something, so if she doesn't wander too far from the marked trails she should be fine. They're designed for ten-year-olds, after all.

It takes her a long time; for some reason she can't seem to concentrate. Or no, not 'some reason': she knows _exactly_ what it is that's bugging her. It's about a billion feet tall and springs into existence in the middle of an unnatural night.

What really gets her is that she's still doing this. Okay, so maybe she doesn't have a choice, but what if there are others like it out there? Emilia didn't give anything away, and Artemis never really got a chance to ask any questions; as soon as the interview was over, they went right into the whole getting-a-pokémon thing. That had to be deliberate, right? She didn't see it then but she sees it now, and she could kick herself for not noticing at the time.

"Damn it, Artie," she mutters. Brauron looks up at the sound, and Artemis holds out her hand for her to climb on. "You were a distraction," she tells her. "A really pretty distraction, but still." She sighs. Brauron makes her way slowly up Artemis' arm to hang from her collar. She seems to like it there.

Somewhere out there, terrible things are happening, and the League sends well-dressed women with natu and kindly smiles to make sure nobody ever finds out. Doesn't even sound real, does it? Even she has to admit it seems like a delusion. But it _is_ real, and this is the world she's planning on going out into, as soon as tomorrow comes.

"What are we gonna do, huh?" Artemis asks Brauron. She puts a delicate hand on Artemis' clavicle: a response, or not. "That's not so helpful," says Artemis. "But it's cute, I guess."

She peels Brauron gently off her shirt and holds her up close, looks into her dark, intelligent eyes.

"We gotta do it anyway," she says, as if it's her pokémon she's convincing. "We're committed, Brauron. What are we?" Brauron licks each of her own eyes in turn with a long blue-black tongue like a fish tail. "That's right," says Artemis, engaging in some creative interpretation. "Committed."

She returns Brauron to her perch and gets up. It's going to be okay. How unlucky would you have to be to meet that spire _twice_ , right?

* * *

It's another bad night. No ghost people, for which Artemis is thankful, but nightmares. It's all right. She'll live. She always does.

In the morning, she gets up early and tidies her room. She tore it up fairly thoroughly yesterday while she was packing, and though she's taking anything that could reveal her other self to her parents with her, she doesn't want to leave a single reason for anyone to come in here and go through her things. It's just second nature at this point; Artemis has spent far too long being far too careful to let herself slip up now.

She's quiet, but Brauron is clearly a light sleeper, and when Artemis closes the wardrobe she senses her uncurling on the windowsill where she perched last night. She originally coiled herself on the bedside cabinet, but Artemis had visions of reaching for the alarm clock and missing and accidentally crushing her with her giant clumsy hand, and had to move her before she could calm herself down enough to go to sleep.

"Hey," she says. "Ready for adventures?"

Brauron looks at her suspiciously for a minute, then seems to remember where she is and who it is she's looking at and relaxes, yawning and settling onto her haunches. She holds out her forelegs expectantly, and Artemis raises her eyebrows.

"Is that what I am, huh? A taxi? Oh god, don't be so _cute_ at me like that, I can't say no."

She picks her up and Brauron settles by her collar again like a spectacular pendant.

"C'mon," says Artemis. "I gotta go make the tea."

But for Brauron clinging to her shirt, everything is just like normal. The radio clock in her parents' bedroom clicks on as she passes, bringing in the presenter mid-greeting; exactly three minutes later, Artemis hears the shuffling of bodies begin as her parents start the arduous process of getting up and ready for work. She makes tea and leaves it out for when they come down. She eats cereal without really tasting it and gauges how much time is left until she needs to leave.

Just like any other Monday in the Campbell household. Except school's out, and in its place something much, much bigger is coming.

Ten-year-olds do this, Artie. _Ten-year-olds_. You're going to be fine.

Her parents come down dressed for work and eat breakfast in an uneasy quiet. Nobody is quite sure what to say, until Artemis, knowing that there are now just five minutes left until her father has to leave, puts her mug and bowl in the dishwasher and stands by the door.

"Well," she says. "I, um … I guess I'm going."

The words hang in the air for a little while, filling the kitchen like a cold mist.

"Okay," says her mother. "I guess you are."

They all file out into the hall, where Artemis has left her backpack. She puts it on in silence, carefully avoiding squishing Brauron beneath the straps (her brief and shocking mental image: a crunch, a hiss, blood soaking into her shirt), and stands there for a moment, fidgeting.

"Well," she says again. "Bye, I guess."

"――," says her dad, taking her hand. "Good luck, son."

(A tiny stab of pain.)

"You know you can come back if you need to," her mother tells her, and then quickly corrects herself: "If you need a break, I mean." She pauses. "You have your meds?"

"Yep. I do." Artemis waves a hand awkwardly over her shoulder at the pack. It's heavy, but as she thought, it's okay. She's heavier by a long way. "Thanks."

There is a moment of graceless silence, in which her parents visibly think about hugging her but do not, partly because of the salandit clinging to her chest and partly because this isn't really a thing that they do with her, any more. Artemis focuses on breathing and not seeing the look on their faces.

"Well, it's nothing really," says her mother, in the end. "Bye then, ――."

"Yeah," says Artemis, moving to the door, so relieved she almost forgets to not hear her old name. "Bye."

"Bye," calls her father, and then Artemis closes the door behind her.

She stands there on the step for a moment, letting the warm light and cool breeze of an early summer morning wash over her. Breathe, Artie.

Okay?

Okay.

Artemis breathes out, and starts walking down the street.

She has a lot to be getting on with. She's not actually leaving town right away; first, of course, she has to stop by Chelle's and get into character, so to speak, and then after that she needs to wait for the shops to open: she has a few errands to run before she abandons civilisation as she knows it for the foreseeable future. If it had been possible, she'd have left a little later, but she would have felt terrible about going while her parents were out. That really would be like abandoning them.

So: first, the bus, eerily quiet at this hour now that school's finished for the summer, and then Chelle's house. Chelle is waiting for her, looking as excited as if it's her who's going off to wander Kanto and have adventures. But then, she already went on her own trainer journey, back at the usual age: three badges in a case up in her room, a persian that now spends its retirement finding new and ever more inconvenient places in which to lie down. She knows what Artemis has to look forward to.

It's a little grating. Artemis doesn't like to be reminded that she missed her first chance. But Chelle's her oldest friend, and she stuck with Artemis even after she became Artemis, taught her everything she knows about clothes and make-up, so she deserves to be cut a little slack. Artemis would be excited for her too, if their positions were reversed.

Here, Artemis gets changed and leaves the clothes she wore out of her house at the back of Chelle's wardrobe, to be picked up when she return home. And after Chelle is done cooing over Brauron, who accepts the attention with the regal grace of a queen receiving a gift from a visiting dignitary, it's time for one last trip out together. They go to the store and buy sunglasses, blinking at each other through mirrored lenses and laughing as they compete to try on the least suitable pairs they can find, and then Chelle accompanies Artemis to the hairdresser's.

It's the last thing. She's going to be gone a while: she's not going to keep this ugly hairstyle when she doesn't have to. Still, it's nerve-wracking, putting herself in such close proximity to people who cannot fail to detect what she is, and she's glad she brought Chelle. Artemis hates to admit it, but she really does need the support. And anyway, someone has to carry Brauron. (The fact that she could simply be returned to her poké ball is one that Artemis deliberately does not consider.)

She does okay. The hairdresser is a little stumbling, a little hesitant, but between her and Artemis and Chelle they manage to work it all out, and Artemis leaves with hair that is still much shorter than she'd like but immeasurably more stylish. She feels a heady rush of relief, and a certain half-ashamed pride that she survived.

There's no time to dwell on it. This is the last goodbye. At the bus stop where she can catch the number 65 to the edge of town, Artemis stops, and moves Brauron to her shoulder so she can hug Chelle goodbye.

"Stay safe, Artie," she is told. "Call me sometimes, huh?"

Artemis promises she will, and then the bus comes and she is at last all on her own.

It's the first time in so long now. There was a time when doing anything at all seemed impossible, and then after that there was a time when her friends and family wouldn't let her out of their sight. She hated it then, of course; nobody likes to be treated as if they can't be trusted, even if it might be true.

Now she has all the freedom in the world. Technically there's nothing to stop her leaving the country and heading for Johto, even; her League grant will allow it. Anywhere she can walk, she is allowed to go. And if at the end of it she turns out to be any good, maybe she could go even further still. Hoenn, Sinnoh, Unova, Kalos … the world is huge, and one day it might all be hers.

Not yet, though. And that's okay; right now, it's too big for her to even think about comfortably. First, she just needs to make it through Viridian Forest.

Artemis looks away from the city shifting outside the window and down at Brauron, flaring the fins between her shoulder blades to catch the sunlight.

"We're really going," she tells her. "You and me, kiddo. We're gonna see some things."

Pewter grows thin and sparse around them. The bus empties its passengers out, stop by stop. Eventually, there's no one on board but Artemis, and the road gets narrow and leafy.

And then it's the end of the line, and she gets out and stands there by the wayside. The bus leaves, and she looks back after it, watching it shrink down among the distant houses. She can't hear even the faintest whisper of Pewter traffic. This is the furthest she's been from the city centre in at least three years.

She looks south, past the place where the road bends to skirt the woods, at the trees that stand there, dark and silent.

The moment hangs inside her like a bead of water on the tip of a finger, gravity arrested by a miracle of physics.

Artemis leaves the road and walks south down a footpath that cuts across the scrubland. Behind her is a signpost, VIRIDIAN FOREST 1 MILE, and behind that are the suburbs, and behind those are her hometown, her friends, her family, everything she loves and hates and both and more.

She thinks it would make a good story if she didn't look back, but she does, just once, and then she gets her head down and hurries on towards the woods.

* * *

"Good morning," says Emilia to the receptionist on duty at the Gym. "I'd like to speak to Brock, please."

Hopefully he's around. She gave him Sunday to get some sleep and recover a little, but now she can't put this off any longer. Her report is filed, the information has been contained, and Brock's sitting on the last loose end Emilia needs to tie up before she can get out of Pewter. And not before time. This is one of those cases, the ones that keep her up at night hoping that the League is as good at dealing with this stuff as she thinks it is. The sooner she can get back home and forget about it, the better.

Besides, at this stage, she really doesn't want to leave Effie alone for too long.

"Um, he's kinda busy this morning," says the receptionist. "Is it urgent?"

Emilia nods.

"I'm sorry, but it is. League business." She shows him her card, which he scrutinises with frank curiosity for a moment before handing it back. Technically he and she both work for the same organisation, but she suspects that he tends to think of Brock as his boss, and not the people up on the Plateau who actually pay his wages.

"All right," he says. "He's in practice room 2 right now. That's down there on the right."

"Thank you," replies Emilia, who already knows this but is too polite to say so. "I appreciate this. I won't take much of his time."

Smile, and turn and go. Hurry it up, Emilia. It's early, but like League investigators trainers keep weird hours and she really doesn't want to get in the way of anyone's Gym challenge.

It's the same room in which she gave Artemis her starter yesterday. The pokémon are actually still here, joining in with a practice session Brock is running with a couple of his trainers: simple things, really, mostly reflex work. Many of the more sluggish rock-types have a tendency to slow down even when living among humans; without the occasional predator or natural disaster to keep them on their toes, they end up too confident in their armour, relaxing into lethargy. (Emilia has a good memory, and a lot of League friends. And you never know when a little extra knowledge might be the thing that decides a case.) Under Brock's direction, the trainers are having their graveler block hits with the tough edges of their forearms, trying to improve their reaction speed. The non-rock-types that Emilia brought are mostly just getting in the way, although they do appear to be doing so very enthusiastically.

"Brock," she says, standing by the door. "I'm glad to see you back on your feet."

He turns, surprised. She wouldn't call the look on his face welcoming, exactly – nobody _likes_ being visited by a League lawyer – but he doesn't look overtly hostile, which after the inane intransigence of the Pewter Police Department is really rather refreshing.

"Ms Santangelo," he says. "I didn't expect to see you here again. Is something wrong?"

"No, not at all. I've finished my report. I just need to discuss a few last things with you, is all." She makes significant movements of her eyes. "Perhaps in private?"

"Oh. Right. Uh, guys? Keep working on that, switch every five minutes for the next half hour. And for the love of god, _someone_ catch that petilil before it gets its roots into anything it shouldn't." (An incorrigible little grass-type, getting into trouble. Emilia closes her eyes momentarily and thinks of home.) "Okay," says Brock. "Let's go."

He follows Emilia out and back down the hall to his office. Nadia chirps and alerts her with a series of mental images to the ways in which it's changed since yesterday: the geodude are gone, presumably for training; there is a mostly-empty mug of coffee on the desk; a copy of the standard anomalous event confidentiality contract is half-visible in an open drawer; _Rugged: A Life Among Rock-_ _T_ _ypes_ has been removed from the bookshelf and left propped open nearby. She's good. Emilia's no slouch herself, but even she only noticed the geodude and the book.

"Can I offer you anything?" asks Brock. "Tea, coffee …?"

"No, thank you. As I said, I won't keep you long." They sit down on opposite sides of the desk. Emilia makes her opening move. "I'd like to talk to you first of all about Jerry DeWitt."

"Yeah, I heard you visited him." Just talking about it makes Brock look tired. "I … went there myself yesterday."

"He should recover within a few days," Emilia assures him. "I don't know if anyone told you that. Probably they didn't, because they barely bothered to tell _me_ , but there you go. The symptoms pass within a week of the event."

Brock stares at her for a moment, then sighs.

"Thanks," he says, with feeling. "They _didn't_ tell me that, no. Although, um, I have a feeling I might have been shouting a lot at the time."

"Yes, Lorelei did mention you seemed upset." In point of fact, she said something much less flattering, but Emilia feels it would be best for everyone if she tactfully forgot this. "In any event," she says, "I'd like to leave him in your hands. You can arrange to speak to him when he's better and have him sign the necessary papers, right?"

"Yes. Yes, I can do that." Brock nods. "Thanks. I was hoping you'd let me do that. I think it's best this way."

"As do I. I'm not here to make things any harder for anyone." This is … well, it's _mostly_ true, but coming as it does right before she starts to make things uncomfortable for Brock it seems a little like a lie to her. "With that out of the way, I think there's only one thing left for me to address."

"That being?"

Nadia shifts her wings slightly, sparking memories: Artemis' prevarication, Brock's lie – and, strangely, Lorelei's report of his anger. That one doesn't quite seem to fit with the rest to Emilia, but she lets it slide. Sometimes Nadia has a strange idea of what ideas are relevant.

Anyway. It's time to come out with it. Brock will appreciate her being straightforward.

"Brock, I know she stays very quiet and it's easy to forget she's here, but I work with a natu," she says. "We can't read minds, but we know when we're being lied to. And you and Artemis both tried to avoid one of my questions."

She stops there, to let it sink in. Brock's elbow hits the table with a thump, and he lets his head fall into his upturned hand.

"Damn it," he says.

"Yes," agrees Emilia. "The good news is, Brock, that as far as I can tell what you were trying to do is reassure Artemis that none of what happened was her fault. And maybe I work for the League, but I'm not an unreasonable woman, so I've waited until the morning _after_ I've filed my report to come and talk to you about it."

He looks up, startled.

"So …?"

"So as long as you haven't given away any state secrets, nobody needs to know." She clasps her hands together on the desk, a picture of calm. "Just tell me what you told her, Brock. And then I go away and we both forget this happened. Deal?"

He hesitates, but it's a good offer and he knows it. Brock straightens up in his chair and nods.

"Deal."

"Okay. So?"

"There's … what I said was, I don't think you're responsible and I was going to have strong words with the people who I thought _were_ responsible. That's it, I swear. I wasn't going to tell her any more than―"

"The people you thought were responsible?" Now Emilia sees what Nadia was driving at. Lorelei said Brock was angry. Why would Brock be angry? Because he thought she had something to do with this. Because he suspected …

No. No, there has to be an explanation. The League _fixes_ problems. Sometimes it creates new ones, and Emilia helps fix them too, but not like this. Not … not whatever this is.

"Yeah," says Brock, oblivious. She keeps her face as impassive as ever. "I mean, I don't know what breach is, exactly, but I know it doesn't happen by accident. It's like the thing said, it was _called_. And who else is going to be doing that kind of research?"

 _Nadia_ , thinks Emilia, and the natu shuffles her feet, ready.

She leans forward, eyes intent.

"What do you think you know, Brock?" she asks, and he gives her a nervous look.

"What? Nothing. I mean, rumours. I know that's Lorelei's division, the weird research stuff. There's – a bunch of people think it's in Viridian Gym or something and that's why Giovanni's never around, but you know, it's just conspiracy theories. I don't really know anything." He's talking too much, too fast. Emilia needs to rein herself in, dial down the intimidation. With an effort, she forces herself to lean back in her chair and relax her shoulders.

"Sorry," she says. "Like I said, Brock, this stays between us. But help me understand something: why would you argue with Lorelei just because of rumours? She's not an easy woman to shout at."

Brock looks genuinely uncertain. Emilia waits for Nadia, but she's got nothing. His hesitation is real.

"I … don't know," he admits. "Just what I said, I guess. I thought, who else was going to call something like that? And – well, Jerry was in the hospital and Artemis was terrified." He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry. You know what, I'm glad you asked. Talking about it now, it seems, uh, kind of ridiculous. I should apologise to Lorelei."

Emilia sighs. Okay. She gets it now. There's nothing behind it, probably – but she'll have to have a word with the Elite Four about maintaining better communications with the various Leaders. Too much secrecy and you get absurd rumours like this. Lorelei's research teams work mostly on managing legendary pokémon and other powerful entities, alongside move research. And Giovanni? He has a business to run. Not the kind of business she entirely approves of, maybe, but still, it more than explains his time spent away from the Gym. Isn't he in the middle of negotiating the appointment of a successor with the League, so he can stop splitting his life between two workplaces and focus on his casinos?

Yes. It makes sense. It does. And she should probably say something to Brock, because the silence is starting to grow.

"Yes," she says. "Yes, I think that would be good. Although – give it till this evening, maybe. She seems a little on edge at the moment."

Brock winces.

"Ouch. Okay, thanks for the tip."

She smiles.

"Not at all," she says. "I'm glad we cleared this up. You can depend on me, Brock: no one will ever know you told Artemis anything."

"Thanks." He grins in relief. "Is that everything?"

"Yes, I won't keep you any longer." She stands up and shakes his hand. "It was good to work with you," she says. "You didn't hear it from me, but you're probably the most sensible Gym Leader we've got in Kanto. Your outburst to Lorelei notwithstanding."

"Really?"

"Definitely. I mean, you've met Koga, right?" That gets the chuckle she was after. "Just – don't listen to rumours in future, okay? I think you're better than that."

"Sure," agrees Brock. "Sure."

They part amicably, and Brock returns to the practice court while Emilia goes outside, where the sun is just getting high enough to start properly warming the city up.

"Well," she says, starting the walk back to her hotel, "that's done then, Nadia. We can go home now."

 _NO_ , says Nadia, and Emilia pauses.

"What d'you mean?"

 _CONNECTIONS_ , she answers, and a little cold finger of doubt touches Emilia through the heat of the day. Artemis, Brock, Lorelei. Evasion, omission, anger.

The breach entity did say it was called …

"I think you're overthinking this," she says, snapping the thought in half before it can go anywhere. "Don't _you_ start with the conspiracy theories too."

 _FURRET_ , mutters Nadia, but she doesn't press it.

It's fine. Natu are good at observation, at making connections, but as her catalogue of differences in Brock's office proved, those observations aren't always meaningful. There's a fine line between detective work and paranoia, and Emilia does not intend to cross it today.

"Let's just go," she says, not wanting to think about it any more. "Come on. Effie's waiting."

* * *

Viridian Forest is not like the other woods. That makes the going a little easier. East of Pewter, the forest was dark and leafy and monochome; here, the trees are all different shades of green, and thick with some kind of creeper that dangles in long, flower-heavy loops. The air is cool and fragrant, and dappled with light. This difference is an important one, as far as Artemis is concerned. It's what says, this isn't last time.

Her plan is to go south through Viridian itself to Pallet, where she can get the ferry out to Cinnabar Island. She could have gone east, she supposes, but that would take her to the mountains and then on into Cerulean, neither of which seem a particularly good place to start training a young fire-type. Viridian Forest, on the other hand, is known for its bug-types, and given Brauron's particular typing they shouldn't be able to do much to her, even allowing for her inexperience. _Their_ inexperience, even. It's Artemis' first time, too.

It's an okay plan. Not perfect, kinda patchy in places, but okay. It will definitely do as a starting point. If you're going to make mistakes, she figures, you should try to make them before it starts mattering too much.

And hey, if nothing else, this is a nice walk. The particular trail she's following is pretty quiet and a little overgrown in places; sometimes she catches flashes of movement out of the corner of her eye and knows there are wild pokémon around. None seem to want to fight. That's okay. Some of them will. They always do.

Artemis hums to herself and breathes in the calm. Freedom is a little frightening, really, so fraught with possibility, but she thinks she could get used to it.

A couple of hours into her walk she hears a clatter of heavy wings and looks up to see a group of glossy wood pidgey flying from tree to tree. They look back, hesitate; some fly on, but one, sensing an opportunity, flies down, shrilling and kicking at air. For a minute, Artemis freezes up – but Brauron knows what to do, has in some amphibian way been anticipating this, and she leaps from her perch with a hiss and a showy jet of greenish flame. The pidgey banks sharply and retreats up to the tree, cooing, and Brauron lands in the dirt at Artemis' feet, crouched and ready to move.

"Oh," says Artemis uselessly, staring, taken aback by the speed of it all. She knew it would be different in person, but still, she wasn't expecting this.

The pidgey flares its wings and begins to beat them weirdly, at a strange angle to reality, and the air stirs, gathers in half-visible clumps, and at one last beat flies forward―

"Um – oh hell, _move!_ "

Brauron may or may not understand the word, but she definitely understands the sentiment. She darts past the gust, twists and spits fire in a neat little ball that falls far short of the pidgey but firmly convinces it that it has picked the wrong fight, and as it flaps off after its companions Brauron turns to look up at her trainer, hissing in contentment.

Artemis keeps on staring.

"Uh," she says. "Right. Okay. Um – well done? Yeah. Yeah, well done."

She picks Brauron up and strokes her little head with one finger.

"I guess you're gonna have to train _me_ ," she tells her. "'Cause I think you won that one on your own."

Sss, replies Brauron, squeezing her eyes shut in pleasure.

Artemis sighs, and starts walking again. It seems like she's got a lot to think about.

She thinks back to all that time spent on the internet. What does she know about salandit? They're poison/fire, an unusual combination that opens up interesting opportunities; the touch of flame in their venom means that it's effective even against the armour of steel-types. Their fire itself comes from setting alight their poison, giving it that distinctive green tint and making its smoke somewhat noxious; they are fast, fragile and dislike close combat, preferring to spit fire and poison from range. In terms of categorised moves, most young salandit will be capable of performing a type 12 ember (rated .43 on the Standard Power Scale) and a type 46b poison gas.

Artemis sighs again. Forget the jargon. Move categorisation is a whole other thing, and she's really not likely to get a proper handle on it any time soon. Focus on what Brauron can actually _do:_ i.e., spit a green ball of fire slightly harder than average, and poison pretty much anything with a pulse and a few things without. What Artemis needs to figure out is how to make her do each of these things on command – quickly and efficiently, if she can, and without giving the game away to her opponent. She has a feeling that saying "hey, do a type 12 ember" within earshot of the other trainer is probably something of a tactical mistake.

"So how do we do this, huh?" she wonders, holding Brauron to her chest so she can climb back onto her dress. "Any ideas, little miss I-can-scare-off-a-pidgey-in-one-go? Yeah, okay, I thought not."

She keeps walking, through a thicket of trees rich with tiny pale flowers that give off a strong smell of growing things, and ponders the question. It's strange, but she hasn't actually ever read anything about this one basic component to training. Everything she researched was kind of predicated on the assumption that the pokémon would at least understand what the trainer was saying; they're not like regular animals, after all.

Possibly, Artemis realises, she should have started with something more elementary. Pokémon Training 101: how to get the thing to do the thing. And now she's here in Viridian Forest, actually on her way, in a place where she might run into wild pokémon or even be challenged to a battle, and she doesn't have a damn clue what it is she's doing.

Brauron looks up at her, concerned. She can feel Artemis' pulse racing through the wall of her chest.

Slowly, deliberately, Artemis untenses her shoulders and lets out her breath.

"I'm okay," she says, unconvincingly. "I'm okay. I'm just – thinking, is all. Just thinking."

It's going to work out. It _is_. There's no alternative, Artie, so you're going to make this stick.

She keeps thinking, and walks on through the woods.

The sun gets higher and higher, and even in the shade of the trees it starts to get hot. Artemis has been wearing a light cardigan this whole time, self-conscious of her arms (their size, their scars), but now she really can't stand it any longer. And anyway, it's silly. There's nobody here to see. So she takes it off, eyeing the undergrowth carefully in case it conceals any watching eyes (which it doesn't, but sometimes it's just easier to placate your paranoia than it is to fight it), and continues on her way.

The deeper she goes, the more flowers she finds. Bushes livid with red splashes, a whole swathe of old forest where the undergrowth is dominated by late bluebells. She takes photos on her phone and, seeing Brauron reaching for them, breaks off a stem for her to chew and burn up into fragrant smoke between her teeth.

It makes her feel a little better. Maybe she doesn't know how to make Brauron understand her, but at least she's not so bad at understanding Brauron.

Later, she's surprised by what she imagines must be the world's most pugnacious weedle, which sees her coming and decides the time has come to either prove its worth or discover hers. It crawls out from under a bush, nose bobbing as it inches along the ground, and she has to try hard not to laugh. Somehow, the pokémon master-or-be-mastered instinct seems less appropriate in a weedle than, say, a golem or a machoke.

"Okay, kiddo, you're up," she says, laying Brauron down on the ground. "Emb― oh. You know what, never mind."

The weedle, catching sight of what looks like a predator, has turned around again and started shuffling off back towards the bushes. Brauron lunges for it hungrily, and for one awful second Artemis thinks she's actually going to eat it, but she stops immediately at the sound of Artemis' panicked voice, and turns to stare at her while the weedle loops its way back into the shrubbery.

"O- _kay_ ," says Artemis shakily, crouching to pick her up again. "Um – please don't do that. Please. I know that's what you do and all, but – just please don't. Or at least not when I'm looking."

Brauron eyes her, uncomprehending. Artemis sighs and puts her back in place by her collar.

"Never mind," she mutters. "Never mind."

She continues. The forest moves around her, same as ever. Except that now, she can't help but be watching for every little movement, every creature that Brauron might see as prey, and somehow the flowers don't seem as bright as they did before.

She really, _really_ needs to start training her properly.

* * *

It's an okay day. Artemis isn't sure what she expected of her first day as an official pokémon trainer, but she's not disappointed. Her feet and shoulders hurt much less than she was expecting; the going's pretty easy here in the forest. And it's quiet, deliciously quiet as nowhere in Pewter truly is; Jerry said it would be full of rookies, but she hasn't seen a single other person. And she's walking around freely, as herself, arms bare to the sun and breeze. Shiny new sunglasses. Her favourite dress. Brauron by her neck. All right, so she's not quite got a handle on the actual training thing itself yet, but what the hell, it's not like she's going to challenge the Elite Four any time soon. If this is what it's going to be like, she really hasn't got anything to complain about.

She doesn't make the campsite, although she thinks there _is_ one somewhere along this trail, but that's fine, she has enough water. She pitches her tent in the shade of a tall, spreading cedar, and through an intricate series of gestures and encouraging words coaxes Brauron into lighting her a campfire. Making a fire is one of the things she researched before she left, and she feels a sudden swell of pride when the kindling catches and it does not, as she half expected, immediately go out.

"Okay," she says, sitting against the trunk of the cedar and tossing a rock a little way away from her. "I'm not gonna teach you to do an ember, right? We're gonna call it … ball. Should throw off the other trainer. So. See that rock? Now, like you did with the campfire … _ball_."

Brauron follows her pointing finger to the rock and scampers over there. She licks it experimentally, acidic saliva sizzling on the stone, and then looks back at Artemis for instructions.

Artemis sighs.

"Like the fire," she says, pointing to it. "Yes, so― whoa!"

Brauron rears and spits, and a crackling green fireball makes the campfire burn huge and bright for a moment before dying back down.

"Yes! Yeah, that's it, okay, the word is _ball_. Got it?" Brauron does not move. Artemis sighs and gives it another go. "Okay, so … ball, there on the rock."

Brauron makes her slithery way back to over to the rock and pushes it out of the way with a quick thrust of her foreclaw.

"That's … okay, this is gonna take a while. C'mon. Back over here now. Yeah. And … _ball_."

It takes some time, but salandit are no ordinary salamanders, and eventually Brauron figures out what is being asked of her. In the end, Artemis has to hold her still so that she won't move to the rock, and then at last she figures out that she is supposed to be attacking from range. _Ball_ , says Artemis, and the flames splash against the stone.

"Yes!" Brauron gets head rubs and a cinder from the fire to chew on, and she gives a little shiver of contentment, the markings on her back flaming for a second with delight. "Okay," says Artemis, putting her back down on the ground. "So let's make sure that wasn't a fluke. Ball."

Brauron sees and spits and is rewarded. And within Artemis rises an immense, shuddery relief: it will be okay, she hasn't already failed, she _can_ do this, she really really can. It's only going to get easier, the longer the two of them travel together and the more they get to know each other. By the time they reach Viridian, they're going to be … well, not _good_ , exactly. But maybe competent.

"Hello, there!" calls someone, and she starts half out of her skin, heart suddenly pounding like it has a mind to flee. "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

A man emerges from the thickening dusk, in the direction of the trail. Middling height, middling build, middle-aged. Dressed for hiking. Artemis stares, trying not to be suspicious and searching for her voice.

"Hello," repeats the man, slightly awkwardly, and then to her relief she manages to speak:

"Hi."

"Do you mind if I join you?" asks the man. "I was walking up the trail when I saw your campfire. And, well, it's getting dark."

"Um," says Artemis. "Sure."

"Much obliged." He unshoulders his backpack and sits on the opposite side of the fire with a sigh. "This is a lovely spot," he remarks. "I must have walked this trail at least fifty times and I've never even noticed it before."

Artemis smiles awkwardly. He must see it. He must _hear_ it, for that matter. But – he's not saying anything. So.

"Yeah," she says. "It's nice."

A pause. The crackle of the fire. The low call of a night bird.

"Where are my manners?" asks the man suddenly. "Sorry. I'm Giovanni."

And then it clicks. Artemis has only ever seen him in pictures or on TV, wearing a suit; out of context, he looks just like an ordinary guy.

"Giovanni Dioli?"

"Yes." He smiles. It seems genuine enough. "Summer's here, and so are the next crop of new trainers. I suppose I don't have to come out here to find starters for them _personally_ , but it's good to get out of town every now and then."

"Yeah. I … can relate to that." This place, this rich green space with its soundtrack of birds and insects – there's just no comparison. Okay, phone reception is distinctly unreliable out here, but other than that, it has Pewter beat in all the ways that matter. "I'm Artemis, by the way."

"Pleased to meet you, Artemis."

Brauron slithers from between her fingers and moves closer to the fire, stretching herself out before the flames, and Giovanni blinks in surprise.

"And who might this be?"

"This is Brauron," says Artemis, and notes with surprise and pleasure that the salandit looks up at the sound of her name. She _is_ smart.

"Brauron!" exclaims Giovanni, smiling. "Is she your sanctuary, then? Do the maidens of the city come to her to perform your sacred rites?"

Artemis has to grin too then, despite her nerves.

"You know your Attican history," she says.

"Oh, you don't get to be this old without picking up a few bits and pieces," he replies. "You're a trainer, I take it?"

"Yeah. Just started out from Pewter."

"Then you're heading to Viridian?" She nods. "Good choice," he says. "This is an ideal place for you and Brauron to find your feet."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

She catches a movement out of the corner of her eye and flinches, but it's just a bat, dipping in and out of the circle of firelight overhead. It would be embarrassing enough normally, but with a Gym Leader right here looking at her it's excruciating. At least her skin is dark enough to hide a blush. Just. In the poor light.

Anyway, he doesn't make anything of it. He simply takes a drink from his water bottle and begins slowly to remove a tent from his pack. Artemis feels grateful, in that pathetic kind of way that makes her slightly angry at herself.

"When did you start, exactly?" he asks, unrolling his tent.

"Today, actually," she says. "Um – do you want some help?"

"Hm? Oh no, you needn't bother yourself. I'm an old hand at this by now." He's not wrong. Artemis can already tell he's going to finish with his tent far sooner than she did with hers. "You started today, you said?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"No reason," he says. "It's just quite remarkable, really. The very first day! I remember mine. Longer ago now than I care to admit, but still." He sighs and pulls a cord taut. "I remember stopping at dusk on the top of the hill and looking back at Saffron in the distance, all lit up. Like … I don't know. I was never much of a poet." He chuckles. "That first night is something special. I hope yours is going well?"

Is it? Artemis asks herself the question, and finds to her surprise that it is. She was expecting to be alone with Brauron, and maybe she might have preferred that, but Giovanni – well, he's Giovanni Dioli. That makes her a little more comfortable with this than if it was a complete stranger.

"Yeah," she says. "Yeah, it is."

"Good." Giovanni lapses into silence, finishes off his tent, and steps back. "Good," he says again, this time to himself, and sits down again. "I'm glad to hear you're getting on all right," he tells her. "There have been some strange reports from out here in the woods recently."

Time slows. Artemis' heart races. Okay. What does he know?

"Really," she says, just about managing not to stammer. "Like what?"

"Oh, strange lights, eerie sounds, that sort of thing." Giovanni shrugs. "Most likely it's just some ghost-types moving into the region. They do tend to get around."

He's so plausible. It could be true. But he's watching her, watching to see – what? Whether or not she gives away that she was there? Or has he just noticed that she's nervous, and wants to make sure he hasn't scared her with the suggestion of ghosts?

"Oh," she says. "Right."

"I wouldn't worry," he says kindly. "They're very unlikely to approach a campsite. If they were the kind of ghosts that fed on human emotion, they'd live somewhere more populated."

"Right," she repeats. "Yeah, I guess." What is she going to do? Let it slide? Honestly, Artemis was kind of hoping she could just walk away from this the way she walked out of Pewter, but maybe it isn't the kind of thing you can get away from. And – well, she can't believe she's even _thinking_ this, but if she could maybe get answers …

All she's saying is, if she knew what it was, maybe she wouldn't be so scared.

She takes a deep breath and reaches for Brauron, warm beneath her fingertips.

"Are you really here to catch starters?" she asks, and Giovanni smiles in a way that in some way she cannot define is distinctly unpleasant. She supposes she might be imagining it.

Or she might not.

"Well, I suppose I'm here to investigate the reports of ghosts as well," he says lightly, and Artemis is suddenly and absolutely convinced that he has not shown up here by chance. "When I saw your campfire, I thought I might ask if you'd seen any. But since you started today …" He shrugs. "No matter. I'll find them, one way or another."

The thing is, it _could_ be true, it really could. And Artemis knows that hers is not always a very trustworthy perspective. In her unseeing, frenetic fear, she makes connections that are not really there.

But – she saw something impossible. Something the League knew about already. Some huge, horrible secret that they swore her to secrecy about, and now here comes Giovanni with a cover story and a plausible smile, asking her what she's seen.

Artemis doesn't know what sort of game is being played here, but one definitely _is_ being played. This is a connection she has a right to make.

She curls her fingers under Brauron's belly, and the salandit flexes obligingly, coils herself around her partner's hand and wrist. Artemis lifts her up and holds her close, flame-warm against her chest.

If she doesn't know the game, she can't tell the rules. Whatever Giovanni wants, stay quiet unless he asks. Don't take risks, Artie. Stay neutral and in the morning get as far away as you can, as quickly as possible.

"Okay," she says. "Sorry I can't be any help."

Giovanni smiles and shakes his head.

"Oh no," he says. "Quite the reverse. You've been very helpful indeed. Now I know where they _aren't_ , see?"

Artemis laughs and says she does. Her voice sounds forced to her, maybe to Giovanni too, but if so he doesn't show it.

Around them, the forest has turned as black as pitch. Artemis shivers, and moves a little closer to the fire.

"Cold?" asks Giovanni. His eyes are dark and ever so slightly amused. "Yes, it's surprising how quickly the heat fades, this time of year."

"Yeah," says Artemis, clutching Brauron, concentrating on her pulse and breath. "Surprising."


	4. 04: Partners

**04: PARTNERS**

It's been a long couple of days. By the time Emilia arrives back in Saffron, she feels like she could sleep for about a week; she got a few hours of rest in a hotel room on Sunday night but not nearly enough. She had her report to write up for Lorelei – nothing major, more or less _yes, this is breach_ and _yes, I've contained the story_ , but still, it has to be composed just so, attached to the data output from BB97 and everything else. It took her a couple of hours, and after that she found herself too restless to sleep much. Sometimes this happens. Emilia can wind herself up into staying awake for days at a time, but getting herself out of that state of mind is significantly trickier.

Still. The long flight back to Saffron International did the trick, knocked her right back to normal, and now she's about ready to collapse face-first onto her bed. It takes her two tries to even get her key into the door.

"Effie? I'm home," she calls, stumbling in. Nadia flutters off her shoulder, cheeping indignantly at the instability of her perch, and hop-flaps her way off into the kitchen to get herself something to eat. "Effie?" repeats Emilia, dumping her bag and entering the living-room. "How are …?"

She stares.

There is a huge, blotchy red petal lying on the floor by Effie's pot.

"Effie?"

She kneels and picks the petal up. It's thick and slightly furry, already beginning to brown and shrivel at the edges. Laying it aside, Emilia turns the pot until the part of Effie that she knows contains her face is towards her.

"Effie, sweetie?"

Emilia bends right down to the floor, trying to find Effie's eyes. She can just about make them out, clamped so tightly shut they are barely even wrinkles in the bark of her thick bole.

"Effie," she says again, helplessly. "Effie, please. It's me. It's Em."

Nothing.

Emilia lets her head fall, forehead almost to the floor. She stays there for a long time, concentrating on her breathing, listening for any movement at all.

She wasn't here. How could she have not been here? She thinks of Effie as an oddish, younger and nimbler. Of that particular oddish instinct to wander at night. Emilia recalls her on the very edge of the firelight, almost lost in the dark, turning to look back beneath her topknot of leaves. Making sure her trainer was still there. Because if she was then it was okay.

But not this time. Because Emilia wasn't here.

Nadia finds her there a few minutes later, and tugs anxiously at her sleeve with her beak. Emilia sits up, slowly, careful not to accidentally brush against Effie's remaining petals with her head, and pushes her hair back across her scalp.

 _SLEEP_ , says Nadia, and Emilia nods and makes her silent way to bed.

In the morning, she eats her first full meal since Saturday and catches up on emails, trying to keep herself from staring at Effie. She knew this had to happen. Flowers don't last forever, and vileplume are strange flowers but flowers nonetheless. It's basic biology. When a plant is done with its flower, it dies back and the ovary at its base swells into a fruit. Emilia read up on this a couple of years ago, back when Effie first began to spend more time rooted than walking around. She knows that by this point, Effie will have disconnected her brain from her nervous system and started to digest it, to give her the last burst of energy she needs to grow her fruit.

This isn't a bad thing. It's just what vileplume do. Effie feels no pain. But she's been Emilia's partner for twenty-seven years now, and that's not a length of time you can ignore. Trainer journey. Transition. First relationship. Law school. The League gig. Everything she did since she was ten, she did with her.

And now …

 _?_ , asks Nadia, from her perch on the back of the couch. No words, exactly; just concern, with a questioning inflection.

"I'm all right," replies Emilia, returning her attention to the screen of her laptop. "Thanks, Nadia."

Nadia chirps. She doesn't sound all that convinced. It's all right. Neither does Emilia.

* * *

Artemis isn't sure what wakes her, but when she opens her eyes she sees a ghost person crouched at the other end of her tent. It is in its pressure suit monstrously, uncannily large, far too big for the enclosed space. Hunched. One hand on its knee. One hand held out, fingers spread. Three and a thumb, one missing, bleeding from somewhere inside the glove.

Its respirator goes click and hiss. Artemis stares, and stares, and with a huge effort wrenches her mind away to something else, to things she knows are really and truly real: sleeping bag, groundsheet, Brauron (Brauron? No, she can't speak right now, can't even call her name), backpack. Dull glow of firelight through the fabric of the wall. Nightingale. Crickets. Smell of woodsmoke and green things.

The minutes pass. The ghost person holds out its hand, accusing.

Artemis breathes out.

It's over now.

She sits up, heart pounding. The tent seems very empty all of a sudden, very open, but not in a bad way.

"Brauron?" she whispers. "Brauron, are you there?"

The red markings on the salandit's back glow for a second in recognition of her name, forming a spiral of light in the dark. She doesn't wake up, but Artemis doesn't need her to. She just wanted to know she was there.

"Okay," she whispers. "Thank you."

Something moves in front of the fire outside, casting a shadow on the tent, and Artemis freezes, thinking that there might be another ghost person out there; it can't be, though, they never interact with the real world that subtly, are always just a little too out of place, and she forces herself to lie back down. It's probably just Giovanni. Even Gym Leaders need to pee.

The shadow moves away again, and Artemis hears footsteps crunch the dirt. Okay, then. Giovanni it is. Maybe she doesn't trust him entirely, but she doubts he's here to kill her in her sleep.

His footsteps move away, and then come back. He's not quite in front of the fire, but she can see him doing something, she's not sure what, that involves picking things up and moving them around. There is a quiet curse – definitely his voice – and then an exasperated sigh.

"Hey," he mutters, so quietly Artemis has to strain to catch it. "Yeah, yeah, I know it's late. Look, the scanner isn't working." Pause. "Yes, Abby installed the porygon before I left." Another, shorter pause. "The blue one? Okay. Then …? Green and then the system button. Right. Now it wants an input code … Look, I'm not feeling very patient here, Steve. You were supposed to set this thing up before I―"

He cuts himself off abruptly before his irritation gets his voice too loud. Artemis lies down, as quickly and quietly as she can. She has a horrible feeling that if Giovanni realises she's awake, something bad will happen. It doesn't matter how strong you are when you're up against someone whose nidoking has in the past outfought one of Lance Harding's dragonite.

"Okay. 4-4-7-2. Got it. Ah!" He sounds satisfied. "Right. That'll do for now, but we're not done talking about this, Steve. I haven't forgotten about Cinnabar. My office, ten am. Dioli out."

His shadow shifts, gets bigger and clearer, and Artemis realises with juddering gasp of panic that he's coming over to her tent―

There is a quiet click, and then he goes.

She lies there for what feels like forever, unable even to let herself blink, until at last she feels half sure he must be back in his tent and releases the breath she has been holding.

Okay, Artie, she tells herself, squeezing her hands into fists to stop them shaking. Okay, you were right. He knows. He's here for you.

She wants to get out and see whatever is out there to be seen, but she can't bring herself to do it. For a long time she lies there, slowly working her way back down out of the panic, and then she frees one hand from her sleeping bag and reaches out to Brauron.

"Hey," she whispers, running her fingers over her back. "I'm sorry, I need you for a minute."

Brauron stirs and cracks open one brilliant purple eye. Like yesterday, she stares at Artemis warily for a moment, and then again remembers that this is her new partner and relaxes.

"I have to do something kinda scary," Artemis tells her. "Will you come with me?"

She feels silly asking, but there's no other way to get herself to do this. Brauron hops up onto her arm right away, of course, not even knowing what they're doing or why, and after a few deep breaths Artemis unzips her tent just enough to form a gap she can peer out through. No one out there. All right. She unzips it the rest of the way and crawls out, Brauron climbing up to her shoulder. The fire has burnt very low, but it's still warm and bright enough to see by. Giovanni's tent looks exactly as it did earlier. Of the man himself, there is no sign at all.

Artemis licks her lips, trying to moisten them, but they refuse to cooperate. She takes some more breaths, and then as quietly as she can she stands up. She did her best to work the zip on the tent-flap silently, sliding it down just one notch at a time, and if she keeps the fire between herself and Giovanni's tent, and if she treads lightly, and if …

She forces herself to stop. Breathe, Artie. Use your eyes. Just stand right where you are, and look.

Okay. She sees … fire, tent, darkness. The suggestion of trees all around. Sticks. Leaves. And, right there by the fire where Giovanni's shadow was―

Artemis stretches out, very slowly and carefully, and with the tips of her fingers picks it up. She examines it and sees – a receipt. For a chicken salad sandwich and a bottle of off-brand cola, to be specific. It must have just fallen out of Giovanni's pocket as he took his phone out or something.

She stands there for a minute, feeling ridiculous, and then some hunch makes her turn it over and see on the back a messy scrawl in ballpoint: BLUE BUTTON GREEN BUTTON SYS 4472. POINT AND SHOOT. BRAD COUNT 1 = POSITIVE, 5 = ++ATTRACTION. ―STEVE

Okay. It's not junk after all. It's … well, if she's honest she's not sure _what_ it is, but it's something. These are clearly instructions on how to operate the scanner Giovanni was talking about, but Artemis has no idea what a brad might be. Unless it literally means a person named Brad, in which case the scanner is a needlessly complex way of determining something incredibly simple.

About the only thing Artemis can be sure of is that Steve probably doesn't deserve the chewing out he's going to get from Giovanni in the morning. She almost sighs, except that she can't because what if he hears, and after committing the note to memory replaces the receipt as close as she can to where she found it. It's probably pointless, since Giovanni didn't seem to even realise that he'd dropped it – but maybe it's a trap, right, maybe the scanner is a blind and the real test is whether or not she comes out and takes the bait, and because of that maybe, slim as it is, Artemis has to give it a go. Then she has to pick it up again and quickly wipe it across her top because she's just realised what if fingerprints, and then she has to get it back in place.

 _Then_ she wonders if maybe Giovanni will know it's been tampered with because his fingerprints were on it and now aren't, and then she closes her eyes and says silently, _go to bed, Artie_.

And then she takes her advice, gets slowly back inside her tent, puts Brauron down far enough away that she can't roll over and crush her, and lies down in her sleeping bag. She can't do this without a little rustling, but she guesses that's okay. People move in their sleep, after all.

Artemis lies there in the dark, listening to the thin hiss of Brauron's breath as she settles back into sleep. The spire was right. It's an omen, isn't it?

Something's coming. Something that League lawyers cover up and the most secretive Gym Leaders track down. Something that Brock knew about but couldn't explain.

An omen of what, Artemis remembers asking, and she hears the answer again now, as clearly as if the spire has returned:

 _Breach._

* * *

Later, Emilia has to call Lorelei. Whatever half-baked rumours have filtered down to Brock, they need to be nipped in the bud, and while dealing with the Gym Leaders is for the most part not Lorelei's concern, she's the one who Emilia's worked with for the past seven years, and who Emilia has, in a hundred tiny ways, coached through the steep learning curve the Elite Four position requires. If Emilia speaks to her, she might argue, but she'll listen.

Still, there's a real risk Lorelei's not going to make it easy for her. She leaves it until after the emails are sorted out and the appointments made, and then Emilia makes herself a fresh cup of coffee and takes it into the living-room to make the call. Then, after a few seconds of staring at Effie and not dialling, she decides that maybe she should do this somewhere else and goes back into the kitchen.

"Em?"

"Hey, Lori." Emilia glances at Nadia, perched on the counter, and feels the relevant memories returning to mind: Brock's anger, doubts about Giovanni, the fact that the entity was called. Evidently Nadia hasn't given up on pushing that particular agenda. "How's the Pewter case going?"

"Badly. Beebs pretty much confirmed it. This is … I can't say exactly, but it's not good, Em."

Nadia can't get a line on a mind at the other end of a phone call, but Emilia doesn't need her to tell that Lorelei isn't lying. She sounds like she hasn't slept since she called Emilia on Saturday. She sounds like someone who didn't summon a giant monster into the woods near Pewter.

"Yeah, I'd gathered. It seemed … dangerous."

"That's putting it lightly." Lorelei sighs. "We're going to have to tell Rigadeau at this rate. Not looking forward to that meeting."

The Indigo League Champion is really more of a figurehead than anything else, mostly because anyone can challenge them and take their position – a holdover from the oldest of the old days when the League was simply a band of the toughest warriors in the clan and the most powerful ruled over them all. Since the office changes hands so regularly, and those who claim it rarely have the same very particular skillset that the Elite Four look for when recruiting, the Champion is not typically involved in League business outside of battling and PR. Casey Rigadeau is one of those Champions: peerless trainer, hopeless politician. They've held the title for six years and been involved in exactly two of the eighteen major operations the League has undertaken in that time.

"That's rough, Lori," says Emilia sympathetically. She's had to present to Rigadeau before. They're very nice, and in many ways very clever, but tend to miss the subtleties of a situation unless she spells them out slowly and clearly. "I guess there's no way you can keep it within the E4?"

"No, I don't think so. You didn't hear this" (and Emilia, with over a decade of experience, easily does not) "but this is the first breach event in ten years. Last time this happened – well, you worked on the M case back in 2007, right?"

Yes. Yes, she did. That was what made Emilia's name with the League, and got her into her current senior position. The M entity killed a lot of people – League affiliates, mostly; Emilia had always assumed that it had encountered the League before in some capacity and had a grudge. Now she wonders if there was something more. If it was a breach entity, and if it targeted the League …

Enough, Em. That was then, this is now. Correlation does not equal causation. Just answer Lorelei already.

"Yeah," she says. "I did."

"That was breach." Lorelei sighs again. Emilia can almost see her pushing tetchily at her glasses, the way she does in this kind of mood. "Pokémon mutate easily, you know that. And breach disrupts. I'm going to have to tell Rigadeau about M and explain we might be looking at that again. We've already got that rhyhorn in quarantine."

The implication is that the M entity used to actually be a terrestrial pokémon of some description. Emilia can't even imagine what it might have been before; the mutation must have been staggering.

"Is he going to be okay? He and his trainer have been through enough already, I'd say."

"No idea," replies Lorelei. Her irritation at her own ignorance is clear. "I hope so. For everyone's sake, as well as the kid's. If it does change I don't know if containment will hold." Clatter of keyboards in the background. She must be at her desk. "Okay. Thanks for listening, Em, I … it's been a difficult weekend."

"Sure." Emilia feels for her, she really does. Her own job is the easiest part of this, and even that's not exactly a walk in the park; the task facing Lorelei is a whole lot worse. "Of course I didn't hear any of it."

"Naturally," agrees Lorelei. "Sorry for distracting you. What did you want?"

"Staying off the record for a while longer, I got why Brock was so pissed. Did he call to apologise yet?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, yeah. Said he was upset at Jerry being in the hospital, which I guess is fair enough."

There's something in that _I guess_ that suggests Lorelei thinks otherwise, but Emilia as ever is tactfully oblivious to it. Lorelei is one of those people who is always in control and takes it a little personally when other people aren't.

"It's more than that." Emilia glances at her notebook, mostly out of habit; she hasn't actually forgotten anything. "He seemed to think that one of your anomalous resources might be responsible."

"What?" Genuine alarm. Emilia is annoyed with herself for being so suspicious, but some habits you can't switch off. "Why would he think that?"

"Because the entity said it was called, and he couldn't think of anyone else who'd be able to call it." Emilia sighs. "Look, this is what I wanted to talk to you about, Lori. He's heard some ridiculous rumours that you've set up a secret laboratory in Viridian Gym and Giovanni is heading some mad scientist nonsense in there."

"That's absurd," says Lorelei. Too fast, too defensive. Emilia feels it like a blow to the chest. She looks at Nadia, who is hearing the phone call through her partner's ears, and the natu looks back, smug.

"I …" Emilia closes her mouth, composes her face as if Lorelei is in the room with her. "Lorelei, I was going to say you need to maintain better communications with the Gym Leaders to stop rumours like this spreading, but you denied that _very_ quickly."

There are several seconds of silence.

"Em, I can't tell you anything, you know that," says Lorelei in the end. No emotion now in her voice. Emilia always did try to tell her that that's not the best way to do this, but she didn't seem to get the lesson. "There's nothing in Viridian Gym, I can tell you that. If we ever were researching breach – and we _aren't_ , for the record – I wouldn't allow it to take place in a major city. I can't believe you'd think that of me."

Good tactic. Probably mostly true, and she's successfully deflected attention from Giovanni. It's just a pity that Emilia's the one who taught her how to talk like this in the first place.

"I don't," she replies. There's no point pressing Lorelei about Giovanni; she'll just say that he's busy with his casinos, and all Emilia will manage to do is alert her to the fact that she's seen through the deception. "I'm making a point, Lori. _That_ is why otherwise sensible people like Brock are falling for these ridiculous conspiracy theories. Just ease up on the knee-jerk blanket denials, okay? _Talk_ to people. They understand you can't tell them everything, but they appreciate not being left alone in the dark."

"I … yeah," sighs Lorelei. "You're right. As usual. Are you aware how irritating it is that you're always right?"

"Yes," answers Emilia, making it sound like a joke although it is in truth anything but. She doesn't just work hard at being nice to get people to lower their guards; it's also because people tend not to like her, because a visibly foreign woman who always knows better than you gets on people's nerves, and so she has a lot of bruised egos to soothe if she wants to stay on their good side.

"Of course you are." Lorelei chuckles. "Fine. I'll ask Bruno to set something up. Leader liaison is his department, really."

"Thanks, Lori. I think it's for the best."

"Yeah, probably."

"Well, I'm sure you're very busy at the moment," says Emilia. "I'll let you go."

"Thanks, Em. And – thanks again, I guess, for everything else. I don't know what we'd do without you."

"Hire another lawyer," she replies, as always. "Bye, Lori."

"Bye, Em."

Emilia puts her phone down carefully on the table and looks at Nadia.

There is a long silence, made up of quiet city noises.

"Okay," says Emilia at last. "Maybe you have a point after all."

* * *

In the morning, when Giovanni emerges from his tent, Artemis is already up. She didn't sleep well, and anyway she really had to be up before him, so that she could prepare herself. (Meaning: shaving, plucking, make-up, everything that she has to do to make at least some people extend to her the courtesy of politely referring to her as a woman even though they do not, deep down, believe she is one.) So: she gets up early, makes a remarkably okay cup of tea on the fire that she has Brauron reignite, and by the time Giovanni is up and about is already starting to dismantle her tent.

"Good morning," he says brightly. "How was your first night as a trainer?"

"Pretty good," lies Artemis, rolling canvas around tent poles. "It's peaceful out here."

"It is, it is," agrees Giovanni. He starts filling a pan with water and is about to put it on the fire when he notices Brauron inside it, crawling around among the cinders and hissing with contentment. "Excuse me," he says politely, and she slithers out of the way to watch from the sidelines, smoking gently and rubbing soot into her skin with her hands.

Artemis is watching too, out of the corner of her eye. She sees Giovanni, bent over the fire, noticing the receipt; she sees his momentary jolt of realisation, the quick sidelong glance in her direction, a deft transferral of paper to pocket. She sees it all, and she is at once comforted and disturbed to know she didn't imagine any of what she thought she saw last night.

"Are you leaving?" he asks her, as she tightens the straps around her tent and puts it back into place on her pack. "You have all the time in the world, you know. No need to rush."

Which may or may not be code for _if you run off right now it would be very impolite_ , so just to be safe Artemis shakes her head and sits down again.

"In a little bit," she says. "I'm just getting ready." She finds an apple in her pack, rubs it on her sleeve and takes a bite. Brauron, who has by now cooled down enough to touch, crawls up her arm to investigate, but turns away at the smell. Salandit don't like fruit. Artemis has been feeding her little pieces of dried meat and some supplementary pellets she got from the Pokémon Mart near the Pewter Gym that are a mixture of ground insects, added vitamins and ash. Apparently pretty much nothing apart from a salandit or charmander will touch them, let alone be able to digest them, but they seem to be going down well with Brauron.

"I guess you must be eager to get going," says Giovanni, watching her over the boiling water. "How have you been getting on with training, anyway? It's not as easy as it looks, but it's not as hard as you might think, either."

"I've got Brauron using ember," replies Artemis. "Brauron? Ball."

Green fire splashes against the earth and dissipates into soot and noisome smoke. Giovanni nods and smiles.

"Very good," he says. "You'll have to forgive me, I've never raised a salandit – what else can she do?"

"Poison gas, I think." Why did she say that? She _knows_. But, well. "I haven't taught her to do that one yet."

He nods.

"It'll be useful," he says. "Don't forget to work on movement, though."

Artemis feels a little cold claw of self-doubt seize her chest.

"Movement?"

"Yes." Giovanni waves a hand back and forth, miming jumping. "Most pokémon do try to avoid being hit, but you can't rely on it. Sometimes you'll be able to see where the next attack is coming from when they can't, and you'll need to have a way to tell them what direction to dodge in, do you see?"

"Oh. Right." She really should have known that. She's seen the televised matches on the International Battle Network. She's heard the trainers shouting their cryptic commands: _two o'clock_ , _S-air_ , _downcurl_. And she's seen the pokémon responding. By all rights, Artemis should have worked out by now that some of those directions are to do with, well, directions. "Okay," she says, trying to cover her dismay and mostly succeeding. "We'll work on that."

Giovanni nods.

"A good plan. Most people use a clock face. Twelve o'clock, right in front of you, six o'clock, directly behind, and so on. It's more precise, and a little harder for your opponent to figure out which direction exactly you mean than if you just say left or right."

"Right. Thanks."

"Just thought I'd mention it."

If he detects her unease, he doesn't show it. He pours boiling water into a tin mug and adds what must be the world's worst instant coffee, creating something that smells indescribably awful. Artemis watches in horrified fascination as he proceeds to drink it with every evidence of pleasure. Okay, so she's not a coffee drinker – her mother's family is from Ahmedabad, and brought with them to Kanto a tea habit that formed a cornerstone of Artemis' childhood – but she's willing to bet that even the most hopeless caffeine addict would turn their nose up at the stuff in Giovanni's cup.

Artemis crunches stolidly through her apple. She'd like more, really; giant that she is, she always seems to be hungry, always trying to keep her outsize body ticking over. But there's a limit to what she can carry, and anyway she'd rather leave sooner and eat later. So she finishes quickly, throws the core away for the birds and ants to pick over, and stands up.

"Well, thanks for all the advice," she says, moving Brauron and shouldering her backpack. "But I really need to get going if I want to make Viridian any time soon."

Giovanni smiles. Evidently she has stayed long enough to satisfy the demands of courtesy.

"Of course," he says. "Nice meeting you, Artemis. Maybe I'll see you again at the Gym someday, eh?"

"Maybe," agrees Artemis. "Maybe don't hold your breath, though. One baby fire-type isn't gonna cut it in a ground Gym."

He chuckles.

"I suppose not. Goodbye, then! And safe travels."

She leaves him sitting there with his awful coffee and hurries back to the path. For about twenty minutes, she concentrates only on putting as much distance between her and Giovanni as she possibly can, then the tight fist of tension inside her unclenches, and she slows to a gradual halt.

She breathes out. She closes her eyes and lets the thousand natural shocks of a summer forest rise up around her: sound of crickets, birdsong, lush scent of green things. Rustling leaves and the distant drone of a huge bug pokémon in flight.

Okay?

Okay.

Artemis opens her eyes, glances at Brauron, and moves on. She's a trainer now. She's got a journey to make.

* * *

Here are the conclusions that Artemis has drawn: one, Giovanni is involved in whatever shadowy bit of the League is investigating breach; two, that shadowy bit has done work on Cinnabar Island; and three, she isn't going to be able to escape this.

None of this is very comforting, but when you're hiking through a forest, you have a lot of time to think. And Artemis is very good – _too_ good – at thinking.

Giovanni came to scan her because of what she saw on the hill near Pewter. That's clear. She doesn't know what the results were, but she stood right next to that thing, heard its awful song and its voice echoing across the void between stars. Whatever a brad is, it's clearly a unit of measurement, and if it's to do with the spire, she's probably soaked some up. So: probably he got positive results. And probably therefore Artemis is stuck with League spooks and G-men on her tail.

Which gives her a choice. Capitulate (and oh, that is _tempting_ ), or investigate. And since Giovanni mentioned Cinnabar, and she was planning to go there anyway … well, the way Artemis sees it, she can't pass an opportunity like that up. You can spend the rest of your life being terrified, Artie, or you can spend it being terrified but also aware of what it is that's scaring you. Not a great set of options, but that's kinda how this works. Artemis is always scared. But life keeps happening anyway, and so she keeps on having to do things, and so, despite her innate and deep-rooted cowardice, she keeps on going regardless.

She traces this line of thought over the hours it takes her to make her way down the trail towards her first official League campsite, where the warmth coming off the firepit argues for recent evacuation. Here she takes a break for lunch, refills her water bottles at the pump and pokes nosily around in the aluminium trailers set up for any travellers whose disabilities might make tents a difficult option for them, and then continues on her way. She's getting into the rhythm of this now. Walking. Sip of water. Wild pokémon, seeking to intimidate, fleeing when confronted. Trees and flowers and feral parakeets escaped from the Viridian zoo.

And, under the surface, the knowledge that somewhere out there people are doing terrible things and somehow she has got herself involved.

It makes sense, right? Brock said he knew who was responsible for calling the spire. Giovanni shows up to scan the woman who spoke to it. Ergo, Giovanni is the one responsible, or at least part of the same organisation.

Artemis tries to let it go, to relax into this beautiful summer's day and her new freedom, but letting things go really isn't one of her strong suits. She walks, and worries, and only when she is physically interrupted does she manage to turn her attention elsewhere. A wood rattata, sleek and big around as a cat, bounds out of the undergrowth and crouches in front of her, demanding a response; she lets Brauron down from her perch and takes a step back, heart racing. This isn't a weedle: the rattata is bigger and bulkier than Brauron. If she gets hurt – but she's a pokémon, right, this is her thing―

Maybe actually start the battle, Artie, she thinks, and calls out:

"Ball!"

Brauron's head snaps forward and the rattata, squeaking, dives forward, flattening itself under the fireball passing overhead; it surges up again and lunges for Brauron, jaws wide―

"Again!"

―and catches the second ember across the jaw, breaking up its leap into an uneasy stagger. The rattata sways and twitches to one side, shaking out its smoking whiskers, and Artemis sees its confusion, realises that life in the forest has left it unprepared for the dazzling light of fire attacks, and in the same second goes for the opening with both hands.

"Now!" she cries, not actually remembering in her haste to specify a command, but Brauron gets the gist of it and piles into the rattata's flank, claws first, hissing with amphibian fury. After the ember, this is too much for it, and as soon as she makes contact it breaks away and scampers off into the woods.

Brauron croaks hoarsely in triumph, a sound Artemis didn't know she could make, and raises her tail behind her, its red markings flaring with inner light. After a couple of seconds of posturing, she collects herself and looks over her shoulder at her trainer, eyes glittering.

"Yeah!" Artemis crouches and reaches out to pet her. She's still hot from spitting fire but it's not too bad. "That's it," she says encouragingly. "You did great!"

Brauron licks her eyes and accepts the attention with a dignity that suggests that victory was only to be expected of someone as great as _her_. Artemis smiles and lifts her back into her usual spot hanging from her top. She did it. She can do this, she really can. The second and third times she didn't even say 'ball' and still Brauron knew what she meant. How amazing is that? She's no Casey Rigadeau, but she's a _trainer_. She really really is.

It's a relief, and a triumph. And for a little while at least it squashes her fears. Cinnabar Island is a long way off, after all. Right now, she's a trainer, and she's winning.

* * *

Later, she bumps into some kids going the opposite way. They're ten or eleven, with a hoppip drifting after them like a tame balloon and a growlithe sniffing around the path ahead of them. It finds her first, yapping and jumping around her with that particular overwhelming joy that only dogs feel, and Artemis smiles and scratches its head while the kids emerge from among the trees down the path.

They stare, silent and fearful, and Artemis straightens up, feels her smile grow faint and cold on her face.

"Hi," she says, but she doesn't get an answer, so she tries unsuccessfully to smile a goodbye and hurries on past them, clenching her hands into fists to stop them shaking.

Six foot one. Built like a Doric column, broad and solid and capable of holding up a roof without assistance. Scarred, beak-nosed, badly made-up. No, Artemis can't blame them. What she saw in the kids' eyes is only a shadow of what she knows she harbours in herself.

"It's okay, kiddo," she says to Brauron, because she'd feel ridiculous talking to herself. "We're gonna be okay."

She doesn't attempt to calculate the odds of this sentiment coming true. She has a feeling they probably aren't in her favour.

Anyway. It's mostly okay. She passes a few more kids that day, and it doesn't get any easier with repetition, but she keeps her head down and just walks on by and very soon they vanish into the woods behind her. And then she can forget about them, until the next time it happens.

That evening she does reach a campsite, but as she approaches the turning she sees the light of the fire and hears voices and she stops, unable to make herself go any further. What's she going to do? Sit there by the firepit with all the rest of them? Three times the size of any of the ten-year-olds and so obviously fake she might as well have it carved into her forehead with a knife? Make them quiet and uneasy and ruin their adventure? Nobody wins in that situation. Not the kids, not Artemis. Better that their journeys don't cross. Better that Artemis sit by herself and enjoy the peace, and they sit with each other and enjoy the camaraderie. They don't want grown-ups ruining their fun, even if Artemis feels pretty far from grown up herself. They want whatever the hell she is even less.

She turns away and continues down the trail for another half an hour, till the light starts to fade. Then she picks her way through the shrubbery to find somewhere else to pitch her tent.

It's okay. She isn't, exactly, but it's okay. Didn't she change her name? And hasn't she run away? You _chose_ this, Artie. You knew exactly what you were signing up for. No point whining about it, no matter how much it hurts.

Artemis sits outside her tent and tries to teach Brauron to spew poison gas on command. It's tricky; Brauron's fire and venom are both fuelled by the same stockpile of corrosive gas inside her, and she's only little: she can't store very much of it at any one time. In battle, they're going to have to be economical, or Brauron will be out of juice and have to rely on her claws – and they aren't really all that sharp. Brauron's been climbing all over her the past few days, and Artemis has barely felt it.

But Artemis is determined, and Brauron is smart – _more_ than smart, even, actively interested in being taught: she saw something in Artemis before, of course, that's why she wanted to partner with her, but the victory against the rattata, small as it was, proves that she's onto a good thing. You can see it in her eyes, in the way she follows Artemis' gestures and stares intently at her face. She wants to figure out what Artemis means, because she really thinks that Artemis is the one who's going to get her stronger.

So she works out that 'cloud' means poison gas, and Artemis for her part feels a kind of mingled pride and panic rising in her: she's doing the training thing, she really is – but on the other hand, now Brauron has _expectations_. And, well, Artemis doesn't have such a good track record when it comes to those. Her parents used to have lots of them. They put all their hopes in her, after all. Both of them came from their separate poverties and fought tooth and nail to rise out of it, to place their child a few rungs further up the class ladder. They put the money together. They dreamed. She's meant to go to university and become something better than them.

This is another reason why the scars bother them so much. They were already disappointed and afraid, after the cancer; that showed them that their child was maybe not as perfect as she was meant to be. The second, more nebulous illness, that existed only in her head and yet left physical wounds – that just made matters worse. Her parents aren't cruel enough to say it outright, but Artemis feels their disappointment like a cold wind that gusts between them and her, preventing more than cursory closeness.

She's going to disappoint them even more when they learn she's not their son. Whatever she does about university, Artemis knows that that's one expectation she's never going to be able to meet.

But. Brauron doesn't want anything nearly so difficult of her, she reminds herself. Brauron just wants to fight things and get tougher. That's a much easier ask than becoming a functional, respectable adult.

So. Artemis smiles, and rubs Brauron's head with one knuckle, and feeds her a couple of her insect pellets.

"You're getting good at this," she tells her. "You _are_."

Brauron licks her eyes in self-satisfaction. And Artemis goes to sleep that night not content, exactly – it's harder to shake off home than she thought, and Giovanni still hangs over her with scanner and spire – but, at the very least, not actively afraid.

Given everything that's happened to her recently, she's inclined to take it.

* * *

Emilia does some digging. Not a lot – she has work to do, and anyway she doesn't officially have access to all the files she'd need to see – but some. She has an unofficial chat with a Gym clerk in Viridian and one of Erika's trainers in Celadon, both of whom owe her a favour; she gets a contact among the Plateau archivists to show her a couple of documents off the record. Nothing concrete turns up. The Celadon Gym trainer doesn't see much of Giovanni, and as far as the paperwork indicates to the Viridian clerk, he really does go to his offices above the Rocket, his flagship casino. (He claims his taxi fare as a business expense and charges it to the League. This irritates Emilia immensely, but she can't confront him about it without revealing that she's accessed his files illegally, so she has to let it go.) And the documents show that, if the League records are to be believed, Giovanni holds no office but that of Gym Leader. No payments for other services, no 'consultations' or anything else listed that might be cover for a secret breach research wing.

It figures, really. Emilia's an old hand at this game, and she knows better than to think that Giovanni wouldn't have covered his tracks. He's been a Gym Leader for over twenty years and has run the casinos for fifteen. The man's a political veteran, and even in his private business must have a whole army of lawyers on his books; if he really is running one of Lorelei's labs on the sly, then he'll have all of her resources too, and Emilia knows from experience how powerful those are. She herself is one of them, after all. Point her in the direction of a supernatural cataclysm and she'll disappear it, just like that – and the League has several others just like her. If Giovanni doesn't want to leave a trace, he won't.

All of which adds up to a big, seething knot of unease, somewhere underneath her breastbone. It's happened before that the League has done bad things and the public has paid the price. The zapdos roosting in the old power plant, for instance. Some asshole actually rubber-stamped the plans to reopen the place, knowing full well that a pair of highly territorial legendary pokémon were laying eggs in the attic, because battle data on zapdos is very limited and wouldn't it be interesting (scientifically speaking) to provoke just a _small_ fight? Except there are no small fights where zapdos are concerned, especially when those zapdos are defending a nest, and so Emilia got dragged in to fabricate electrical faults in the old equipment to account for the carbonised workers, and Lorelei distanced herself from the whole thing and swore blind that she had no idea this was even happening.

The worst of it is, Emilia believed her. That's the horrible thing about the particular conjunction of power and secrecy. Someone can be so far removed from the consequences of their actions that they can do something like that, and the people who might stop them don't even know it's happening. Emilia knows that this is the system she has made a career out of supporting, but she's always told herself, eight out of ten, right? Eight out of ten times, the League gets it right, saves lives and prevents mass panic. People don't want to know that there are zapdos in the power plant, or that someone calling himself Cryptstalker Corvax once dug up a few corpses in a Celadon graveyard and incited haunter to possess them in an attempt at creating an undead army. Eight out of ten times, Emilia is doing the right thing. She's always believed this.

But that leaves the other two times. And this … well, Emilia has no hard proof, but Lorelei's evasions more or less clinched it for her. This is one of those times. The League has done something wrong, put one kid in the hospital and traumatised another, and Emilia has made sure that nobody notices.

Eight out of ten, she tells herself. Eight out of ten. It still doesn't sit easy with her. It never does.

She doesn't go any further with this. There's no point risking her neck over it; she won't find anything, after all. And besides, the reaction to the breach event near Pewter has been big and dramatic enough that Emilia feels sure the League will have to shut down whatever it was that Giovanni was doing. The Champion's involved now, and the kadabra and alakazam commune. _They_ won't stand for it, for sure. People are not so keen on smashing open the fabric of the universe.

So she tries to forget about it, tells herself _eight out of ten_ , and carries on with her week. It's the usual stuff: liaising between Parliament and the League, being an approachable face for civil servants intimidated by the bizarre wing of national government that lives up on the Indigo Plateau instead of down in the capital with everyone else. Consultations, meetings, the maintenance of a careful peace between various factions whose only common ground is that they all have their own petty agendas. She gets the occasional call from a very stressed Lorelei, asking for advice on how to deal with one group or another, but for the most part she is kept out of the loop, as she expected, and just has to hope that the League is doing the right thing.

Besides, she has other things to worry about. Effie has lost another petal, and the others are starting to look dry and wrinkly at the edges. More than once Nadia has come to remind Emilia of an appointment and found her sitting there in the corner, watching her old partner, face blank and mind a monotone signal that Nadia struggles to interpret. She pecks at her ear or tugs on her sleeve, utters what human platitudes her bird brain can manage, and most of the time she rouses her. Sometimes she does not, and simply stays with her instead.

Emilia digs around under her bed and finds the slim leather case that contains her Indigo League badges. Five: three from Kanto, two from Johto. All but two of them are no longer in circulation, the Gym Leaders that gave them out having retired or died or moved on to other work and leaving successors who claimed the right to design a new one. She polishes them, restores the grubby enamel to its original sheen, and pores over them, next to Effie.

Charge, Wave, Soul; Fist, Rising. Five fights. Five memories dissolving inside Effie's wooden skull. Five of many.

Emilia recounts the story of each one in an undertone, not knowing if Effie hears, not caring. The point is not that Effie has forgotten, she tells herself. The point is that Emilia will remember for her.

She gets up each day. She goes to work, smiles, talks, brokers. She eats healthily, goes to the gym, gets exactly as much sleep as is necessary.

Everything is fine. Everything continues. Except that very soon, Effie won't.

Lorelei's next call comes during one of her fugues, when she finds herself unable to look away from Effie's pot, mind locked into a loop of thoughts that run through the life cycle of a vileplume, over and over again. It takes a few seconds for Emilia to realise her phone is ringing, and a few more for her to actually lift it from the table to her ear.

"Yeah?" she says, distantly.

"Em? It's Lori." Low voice. Urgent. "Something's come up."

Emilia's automatic professionalism kicks in with an efficiency that almost disgusts her, burying her horror beneath a clean, crisp blast of calm.

"All right, Lori," she hears herself say. "Tell me what happened."

"You need to get the next flight to Viridian," Lorelei replies. "The cops have Samuel Oak in custody at Viridian North."

"What? Professor Oak? What's he done?"

"Hospitalised seventeen people and destroyed a couple of buildings."

The world grows cold and narrow for a moment. This makes no sense in a particular kind of way that gives Emilia a very, very bad feeling.

"Has he now," she says, betraying nothing. "That's … definitely strange."

"You think that's strange, wait for the next bit," replies Lorelei. "Oak is also currently doing a show about the next stage of the Pokémon Index Project on JBC Radio One, broadcasting from Goldenrod. Live."

Emilia wishes she was surprised.

"Two Oaks," she says.

"Yes," says Lorelei. "Two Oaks. One of whom just levelled a farmhouse with a gyarados."

For a moment, Emilia says nothing, just stares at Effie and breathes. Two Oaks. A dying vileplume. A League in crisis.

 _I am omen_ , said the entity.

They didn't stop, did they. Not even after Pewter.

"Okay, Lori," she says, bowing her head. "Tell me everything."


	5. 05: Summer Lightning

**05: SUMMER LIGHTNING**

Over the next few days, things start taking shape. Artemis still hasn't had an official battle yet – she hasn't even spoken to another trainer so far, although she has run into a few of them – but she's getting better at the rhythms of hiking and camping. Her tent stops fighting her when she puts it up. She finds a walking pace that even she, city girl that she is, can sustain for hours without stopping. When wild pokémon appear, defy her to defeat them or win their trust, she and Brauron see them off as one.

There are other rhythms she has to master. Her body fights her at every step; she learns the difficulty of having hair that grows as coarse and fast as knotweed in a season of sun and bare flesh. She struggles to manage her face, her muscles, her absurd, outsize limbs. She is sickened by the way she holds herself.

But Brauron likes her. And Artemis made promises, long ago, not to do anything with the urges spiralling wildly beneath her skin. So she breathes deeply and resists the urge to shred herself and wears long skirts. And anyway, she comes to like them, to appreciate the value of clothes that have a satisfying swishiness to them.

Nobody ever said that this was going to be easy, did they? Pretty much exactly the opposite, in fact. And still you did it, Artie. That's important, that means that either this is real or she _believes_ it's real, which she guesses are more or less the same thing anyway, and that in turn means that all of this is (probably) worth it.

She walks. Her skirt goes swish. Brauron clings to her and follows her watchful eyes.

It's all right. Terrible things are happening elsewhere in the world, but here, in Viridian Forest, between her and her salandit, it's all right.

This is, Artemis feels, more or less as much as you can hope for out of life.

Half a day or so out from Viridian, she has her first battle.

She's stopped for some water, checking her giant map of Kanto and noting with some pride how many miles she's covered these last few days, when she hears the rustle and stomp of someone approaching and looks up sharply, eyes pointed north up the trail. Her encounters with others haven't all been disastrous, but none so far have been encouraging. If past performance is anything to go by, Artemis will either say hi and be forgotten, or simply get up and walk silently away.

Neither of these things happen. A short, bouncy young woman appears around the corner, singing loudly and extremely badly, and Artemis can tell right away what kind of person she is because when she sees Artemis she sings even louder until she reaches the end of the verse, and then stops with a dramatic flourish.

"Hi," she says.

"Hi," says Artemis.

Pause. Brauron climbs the side of Artemis' head, fingers hooking into her hair, and peers over the top at this newcomer. White. Artemis' age or thereabouts. Violently pink hair and artfully torn jeans. A blackwing spearow on her shoulder, larger and more pugnacious than the common redwings that throng the Pewter rooftops.

"I'm Cass," says the woman.

"Artemis."

"Cool!" says Cass, with the sort of enthusiasm that Artemis finds kind of overwhelming. "Are you a trainer?"

"Yeah."

"Neat! You're like the first other trainer I've met who isn't half my age. Did you just start out or have you just been doing it like for years? Oh wait, wait, lemme guess. You're … a pro. Right?"

A lot of words, and they come at a speed that makes Artemis want to shrink down among the plants and disappear, but she can't help but smile a little at how wrong Cass is. What about her exactly looks like a pro trainer?

"Nope," she says. "I just started out."

Cass snaps her fingers and shakes her head. Her hair waves like tinted flames in the sunlight.

"Damn it. That was gonna be my second guess."

Artemis laughs dutifully and wonders if she ought to stand up. It will be very apparent that she's half as tall again as Cass if she does, but it seems a little weird to just stay sitting here on this log while she talks to someone standing.

" _Anyway_ ," Cass continues, while she's still absorbed in the politics of her own movements, "since we're both here and all, and I'm like a rookie too, how about we battle? I'll go easy on you," she adds quickly. "I'm gonna say that right now so I have an excuse for when I lose."

"Oh," says Artemis. The joke is right there but she can't quite respond as she'd like. "Um …"

"I mean it's okay if not," says Cass. "You probably have stuff to do, so―"

"No," says Artemis, trying to squash her nerves. She can do this. She'll _have_ to, at some point, pokémon training being what it is, so she might as well start now. "No, let's … let's do that."

She stands up. Cass' head visibly tilts as she tracks the rise of Artemis' face.

"Wow," she says, childishly tactless. "You're tall."

Artemis swallows.

"Yeah," she agrees. "I noticed."

She and Cass move to one side of the trail, behind the log where Artemis was sitting, where a stretch of browned grass forms a makeshift arena. Artemis plucks Brauron from her blouse and gives her a look.

"Okay, kiddo," she mutters. "Crunch time."

Brauron licks her eyes, which seems to be her default response to most things, and Artemis puts her down on the grass in front of her. Cass watches with open curiosity.

"What _is_ that?" she asks. "Never seen one before."

Okay. That gives Artemis some advantage here at least.

"Salandit," she replies. "I got lucky at Pewter Gym."

"Neat. Okay, buster, it's your time to shine." This last is directed at her spearow, which is looking at Brauron in that intense, slightly murderous way that spearow do. Artemis is – well, not confident, exactly, but hopeful. Spearow fly at things and peck at them, right? But putting your mouth on a poison-type is an objectively terrible idea. She might be able to do something with that.

The spearow flutters down onto the turf at his trainer's feet, turning his head this way and that, viewing Brauron with alternating eyes. She stares back, cool and motionless. Amphibian calm versus avian twitchiness. Artemis hopes Brauron's nerves hold better than her own.

"Okay?" she asks, and Cass nods.

"Ready when you are," she says. "Start … now."

The spearow kicks away from the ground in a clatter of feathers, wings hammering furiously at the air; he flaps, banks, gains height, and―

"Peck!" calls Cass, and with a thin piercing cry he falls. Artemis was expecting this, is even to her surprise ready for it, and she calls out in turn:

"Curl! Cloud!"

Brauron does not hesitate, squashes the urge to dart away and coils in on herself, a dense green fog rolling in lumps and waves from her mouth and blackening the grass around her. The spearow has just enough time to squawk his surprise before he ploughs straight into the heart of the cloud, wings flailing. For a couple of seconds, both trainers are frozen, trying desperately to see beyond the mist of poison – and then there is a sharp hiss and the unlikely sound of a bird coughing violently, and the spearow staggers back out of the cloud, kicking uselessly at where he thinks Brauron might be.

"What?" says Cass, staring, baffled. "What?"

Press the advantage, Artie. Salandit poison is flammable, that's the whole damn point, right? And you can't waste it, not when she's just spat out half her whole stockpile in one go, and the spearow is right there still, dazed and trying to beat his way through the poison with gusts of wind and little slashes of his hooked beak, so if there was ever a time …

"Ball!" she snaps, and somewhere in the slowly dissipating cloud of gas there is a little green flash―

A soft whoomph, and then both of them have to look away from the sudden glaring brightness. And then, when they look back: Brauron, croaking triumphantly in a circle of burnt grass, and a somewhat scorched-looking spearow hopping weakly back in the direction of his trainer. As Artemis watches, he glances back at his opponent over his shoulder. She isn't all that familiar with birds, but she's pretty sure that particular look says _screw this_.

"What the …?" Cass bends down towards him, but her gaze is still fixed on Artemis. "What even _was_ that?"

Artemis doesn't respond. Her mind is still stuck half a minute ago, even as her eyes watch Brauron hissing and making her tail markings burn with the last of her fuel. Did she …? She did. She actually – and Brauron really – holy crap. They did the thing. Artemis had a strategy and Brauron executed it and they …

It seems impossible. But it's true. Artemis really is a trainer.

"So what was that freaky lightshow?" Cass asks, swinging her backpack off her shoulder while her spearow perches on her foot with an air of wounded dignity. "I – hello? You still with us?"

Artemis blinks, and feels herself realign with reality.

"Yeah," she says. "Yeah, I am. Sorry. That's, um, that was my first battle."

"What, really?" Cass pauses, one arm halfway into her bag. "But that was great! You're― ow, _okay_ , Ringo, sheesh, it's coming." She rubs her shin where the spearow pecked it and pulls a potion from her bag. "Here you go."

While she tends to him, Artemis crouches and looks seriously at Brauron. She doesn't seem hurt at all, although Artemis is pretty sure a couple of those blows must have connected.

"Not as squishy as you look, huh?" asks Artemis. "C'mere, kiddo." She holds out her hand, and Brauron climbs her arm, still hot from the fire. Her sharp eyes glitter with self-congratulation – and respect. Artemis isn't sure how much of what just happened Brauron understands, but she clearly knows that this was a proper fight. Which they won. The two of them, together. "God, you're good," Artemis says, stroking her warm little head. " _Someone's_ eating well tonight."

Brauron hisses happily and winds herself around her arm, a bracelet more gorgeous than anything you could buy in a store. Artemis smiles at her, grins really, for a long time, before she realises Cass is talking to her again.

"That was really your first battle?" she's saying.

Artemis hesitates, feeling ugly with embarrassment.

"Um," she says. "Yeah, I guess it kinda was."

* * *

They get talking. Cass started in Cerulean, actually, but she took a train to skirt Mt Moon instead of hiking the long trail through the caves and crevasses within the mountain itself. Too many rock-types, she says. Not her idea of a good first outing for a spearow.

"I started in Pewter," admits Artemis. "I'm like completely new to this."

"And you got your crazy poison/fire lizard there, huh?"

A tiny invisible hurt. Artemis does not like that word. It has more bite than people know. Everything's just in her head, right? Crazy person that she is.

"Sure," she says. "Lucked out at the Pewter Gym."

"Neat." Cass prods her spearow gently, and he snaps at her finger without rancour. "My brother caught Ringo for me."

"Ringo?" asks Artemis, and Cass shrugs.

"As in, Starr. He's got a prominent beak," she explains, and Artemis surprises herself by laughing.

"Okay," she says. "Okay."

They walk on a little while in the thickening heat. It's the sort of day that you know will end in summer lightning: dark clouds forming in peaks and banks at the edges of the sky, air so still and warm it takes real effort to breathe it. The forest is quiet, expectant, dappled with light.

Cass skipped the Pewter Gym after a brief training session there, which Artemis agrees was probably for the best. Is she going to try in Viridian? She's not sure. Probably not, if that last battle was anything to go by. She and Ringo need more practice if they're ever going to have a decent shot at a Gym challenge.

"That was really clever, the way you didn't even like say what moves you were using," she says. "I never even thought of that."

Artemis smiles self-consciously.

"It's what they do on TV."

"Huh. Guess I never noticed. That sounds like something I'd do." Cass makes a face. "Anyway, so where are you going? Pallet to Cinnabar?"

"Yep."

"Me too!" Cass looks way more excited by this than she has any right to be. "Mind if we travel together for a bit, then? Nice to have someone my own age around, you know?"

Artemis considers. Cass has said absolutely nothing about the way Artemis is so obviously not cis. And she's not ten. And she seems pretty capable of filling any awkward silences on her own without any help from Artemis herself. Still, she thinks, and then interrupts herself: still _what_ , Artie? Come on. Make a friend.

"Okay," she says. "I'd like that."

"Yes!" Fist pump, bracelets jangling. "I was beginning to think that every single trainer in Kanto was under the age of twelve."

"It feels that way," agrees Artemis. "You're the first one I've met who isn't. 'Cept Brock, I guess."

"You met him?"

"Well, he was there while I was getting Brauron here," lies Artemis. "You said your brother got Ringo for you?"

"Yeah. He's _also_ on his trainer journey right now, which means I got Ringo as charity from a ten-year-old, but I guess that's fine." Cass shrugs. "I didn't go when I was a kid 'cause I had a scholarship I couldn't turn down. Now I got me my edumacation, I'm making up for lost time."

Artemis detects sharp edges underneath the bubbly wit: there's something raw and painful there. Cass has screwed up somehow, or she thinks she has at least. It's strange, but it makes Artemis like her more. Failure is comfortingly familiar.

"Where was the scholarship to?"

"Silverleaf."

Silverleaf: an ancient fortress of a place, somewhere way up in the mountains near the border, and the number one destination for the children of politicians, business magnates and moneyed technocrats. Also a small but formidably smart number of less well-off scholarship kids. Cass is clearly better at studying than she is at pokémon battles.

"Impressive," says Artemis. Cass shrugs.

"'S okay. So what about you?" she asks, evidently wanting to change the subject. "Any particular reason you didn't go as a kid?"

Acute lymphoblastic leukaemia, Artemis thinks.

"I was sick," she says.

"Oh. Must've been bad, then."

"It was pretty bad, yeah."

Cass falters, looks at her uncertainly.

"Sorry," she says. "You know you can always tell me to shut up. My mouth just runs away with me."

Artemis smiles. It's okay. Cass is being nice, isn't she? And Artemis doesn't mind, really. She doesn't bring the topic up herself, but if it comes up, she doesn't complain.

"It's fine," she says. "It's just not really very interesting, is all. I was sick for a few years, and it took me a while to recover after that."

"A few _years?_ Wow. Yeah, I bet it took a while." Cass shakes her head. Ringo shuffles irritably as clouds of pink hair brush his face. "Okay, I'm gonna take my nose and pull it firmly outta your business now."

She makes Artemis smile, and that eases the tension. Artemis can't tell whether she's a conversational grandmaster or just naturally cheerful. She supposes either would be fine.

They walk. Overhead, the clouds thicken; around them, the forest quiets, birds and bugs retreating to their boltholes as the air grows taut and charged. The sun's still bright, but the storm clouds cast a long, dim shadow, and underneath the trees in Viridian Forest a kind of eerie not-quite-twilight prevails. Ringo, who has been fluttering on ahead from branch to branch, returns to his partner with an uneasy chirrup.

"How far are we from the other side?" asks Cass, rubbing a knuckle against his neck. Artemis gets her map out and gauges distances with finger and thumb.

"Uh … let's just say we should probably hurry up."

They look up. The sky is bruised with water.

"Yeah," says Cass. "I think that's probably a good idea."

* * *

It's a close thing. When they make it out the other end of the forest, Cass and Artemis have about twenty seconds to enjoy the sight of rolling hills and sunlit farmland before the first fat raindrops come hissing down, and maybe fifteen more to reach the bus shelter before the clouds tear open and the storm breaks in earnest. They sprint down the path towards the road, Artemis stumbling slightly in her unfamiliar clothes, and as the first peal of thunder rolls out overhead they fling themselves beneath the curved glass roof, laughing at themselves and at the rain now hammering the shelter like an angry god.

"Oh man," says Cass, pulling off her sunglasses, running her fingers through rain-slicked hair. "That's _intense_."

Artemis has to agree. Brauron is wriggling around on her chest, tugging at the pocket of her bag where her poké ball lives; most salamanders like the wet, but clearly the storm is stressing her out, so Artemis gets the ball out and sends her back into its climate-controlled sanctuary. She can't really blame her. It's a hell of a storm, rain driving so thick and fast that Artemis can hardly see to the end of the canola field behind the bus stop. As she watches, lightning strikes twice, somewhere far out on the horizon, and the thunder follows more or less instantly.

"Right in the thick of it!" yells Cass, over the sudden tumult, and Artemis nods, unwilling to raise her voice and put its bass depth on display. Right in the thick of it, indeed.

Ringo doesn't like it any more than Brauron, but he's a spearow, and spearow are vicious little bastards. He hops up onto Cass' head and fans his wings at the rain, puffing himself up, hurling twittering invective into the teeth of the wind. The two women watch, Cass going almost cross-eyed in her attempt to see him, and laugh. They don't mean to, but there's just something so endearing about such a tiny animal blustering so passionately at such a massive force of nature.

The shelter fills up with the smell of rain and battered plants, bleeding the heat and tension from the air. Artemis shuts her eyes for a moment and holds out one hand, beyond the lip of the roof. She is soaked to the elbow instantly in crisp, cool water, and she feels something inside her melt at its touch.

Kanto summers. Storms and searing sunlight. All of this is so familiar, something she's seen a thousand times before from the window of her bedroom, but not like this. Not at all like this.

The smell of it is everywhere. The feeling of it on her skin. And a friend, and a pokémon, and the plants in the field tossing like an ocean of yellow water.

"You okay?" asks Cass, seeing her standing there, swaying a little with the impact of the water on her arm.

Artemis opens her eyes and smiles, for once, without any consideration at all of what it looks like.

"Yeah," she says. "Better than okay. You know?"

Cass grins.

"Yeah," she says, as Ringo flutters to her wrist, the better to spit his fury at the storm. "Yeah, I know."

The bus comes a few minutes later, the glare of the headlights setting fire to a thousand raindrops as it rumbles through the storm, and Cass volunteers to jump out of the shelter and flag it down. When it's stopped, Artemis follows her aboard, where the two of them show their trainer cards for the discount and take seats on the upper deck, right at the front, where the wind and rain howl on three sides and isolate them in a strange frozen moment, cut off from the reality of the world.

Artemis hesitates, then takes off her wet cardigan, slings it across her bag. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Cass looking at her arms, at the pale lines that are so visible against the brown, and she takes a deep breath and composes her mind.

"What happened?" asks Cass, as tactless as ever, and because Artemis is ready for it she is able to tell herself that it doesn't hurt.

"Tried to unlock my car with my clavicle," she says lightly, and Cass smacks herself on the forehead with the heel of her palm.

"Shit," she mutters. "I'm sorry. My mouth just went off before I even thought."

Artemis nods.

"Okay." She does not say that the apology is accepted. She feels bad about that, but she's always stuck to her guns on this point: forgive insensitivity too easily, and she'll be even more of a doormat than she already is.

They sit in silence for a while, even Cass struggling to fill the gap. She scratches Ringo's head gently and watches the storm while he sits on her thigh, rage spent.

Through the streaming rain, the ruins of a building come into view on the right, surrounded by the yellow flicker of police tape, flipping and snapping wildly in the wind. Some psychic-type has put up a barrier over the rubble, diverting the rain across the walls of an invisible dome. Rivers run through midair and splash in the dirt, and beneath them water-blurred shapes that look like cops are combing through the wreckage.

"Wow," says Cass, staring. "Wonder what happened there."

"Yeah," says Artemis, staring along with her. "I wonder."

* * *

You don't have to be Emilia Santangelo to know that this is bad, but it helps.

She goes over her information as her taxi takes her through streets that are currently halfway to becoming canals, towards Viridian North Police Station. What she's heard is that Oak – or the thing posing as Oak – has five poké balls on him, only one of which has actually been opened; that one, unfortunately, contained a gyarados that seems to rival Lance Harding's in size and power, and it is this that swept down from Viridian Forest over the outlying farms north of the city. The other poké balls somehow broke the scanner when the police tried to figure out what was in them, and are now being held securely while they question Oak himself.

This hasn't gone well, as far as Emilia can see. Oak appears to have a very limited vocabulary. Mostly, he's been challenging his interrogator to a battle, and then looked faintly confused when he can't find his poké balls.

Emilia sighs. It's a mess, is what this is. Giovanni was out of town on business, so only his Gym trainers were left to back up the cops as they tried to stop the gyarados – and Viridian has never had strong Gym trainers, not since Giovanni's attention has been divided between the League and the casinos. Gyarados don't back down, even when they're on the verge of death, and though the Gym and police pokémon combined did in the end knock the damn thing unconscious there have been injuries. In addition to the eight farm labourers caught in the initial round of hyper beams and thrashing coils, seven police officers and two trainers have been hospitalised, as well as nine of the pokémon themselves.

It's the worst gyarados attack that Emilia can remember. Usually, they can be temporarily caught with reinforced poké balls and moved out to sea or up into the mountain lakes where they can rage until the fury leaves them. But Oak's gyarados already had a ball, of course. And that meant it had to be stopped the old-fashioned way.

"I'm not sure we can bury this one, Nadia." Emilia flicks through papers, thinking out loud. Her voice is half-drowned out by the rain. "Not completely. You can't hide a forty-foot dragon like that. We'll have to work on suppressing the Oak angle, spin it as a straight gyarados attack. If it had just come from the south we could've said it beached at the isthmus; I know that's happened before. Remind me to get a map of the mountains south of the Plateau. There are definitely lake gyarados up there, and they do at least sometimes come out on land …"

Nadia nods and stores away information, filing like with like, creating the bones of a story. The League will need an official explanation very soon, and the responsibility for it rests with her and her partner. Technically the Elite Four are supposed to okay it before the line goes out, but in practice this tends to slow things down too much, and anyway Emilia has by this point been working for the League for longer than any of them except Agatha. There aren't many people who can say that, and the fact that Emilia can gets her a certain degree of leeway. If she comes up with a good cover story, nobody is going to second-guess her back at the Plateau.

The taxi pulls up. Emilia folds her papers back into her bag, pays the driver and shelters Nadia inside her jacket as she darts across the pavement and through the double doors into the station.

"All right?" she asks, as Nadia hops back onto her shoulder. "Okay."

Her League ID gets her a suspicious look from the receptionist and summons a tough-looking woman in her fifties to the front desk. When she sees Emilia, she nods in recognition.

"Ms Santangelo? I've heard of you. Superintendent Ashley Colbert."

Emilia shakes the hand she offers.

"Good to meet you, Superintendent."

Colbert motions for her to follow, and starts walking at a brisk pace down a dingy corridor.

"We've got our so-called Oak down in the cells for now, but I'm not convinced we'll hold him," she says, without preamble. "He's managed to somehow get one of his poké balls back at least twice now. Fortunately we took them back again both times before he was able to release anything."

"Get them back? How?"

"I don't know." Colbert pushes open a door and holds it for her. "He just takes them out of his pocket and then they suddenly aren't where we left them. I've had people actually physically holding them for the last half an hour, and that seems to be doing the trick."

Emilia is impressed. She's dealt with cops of all stripes in the past, and many of them have a disconcerting tendency to go to pieces in the face of the supernatural. Colbert is made of sterner stuff, it seems.

"I appreciate all you've done," she says. Colbert shrugs and leads her down a flight of steps.

"The Gym says Giovanni is on his way," she tells her. "I think they mentioned something about secure transport?"

Emilia nods. Lorelei briefed her on this, albeit not in great detail; although no one has said it, everyone suspects that the doppelgänger is breach, and that means he has to be moved to a containment facility immediately, as a matter of public safety. Her relative ignorance doesn't matter, however. Colbert needs someone who knows what she's doing, and since nobody else is around to step up to the mark Emilia will have to be that somebody, whether she has all the facts straight or not.

"Yes," she says. "He'll be bringing a specialist team with him. We'll be able to move him then and work out what exactly happened."

The corridor here is windowless and lit with fluorescent bulbs. Colbert pauses just before the corner and draws Emilia to one side, out of the stark light.

"Off the record," she says, in a low voice, "this isn't just an imposter, is it?"

Emilia shakes her head.

"I'm afraid not," she replies. "Honestly, I'm impressed you caught him at all."

Colbert looks grim.

"We nearly didn't. He almost threw another poké ball before Officer Hawke managed to tackle him. Shrugged off a hypnosis from our psy officer's partner without even yawning." She glances over her shoulder, around the corner. "All right," she says. "Thanks for your honesty. This way."

Emilia follows her around to the cells, and to Oak.

He stands there behind the bars and guardian constables, lab coat a little dirtied but otherwise exactly like every picture she's ever seen of Kanto's leading pokémon researcher. Height. Build. Eyes. There's nothing at all wrong with him, and somehow this itself feels very, very wrong indeed.

He looks at her, and Emilia shivers.

"Hello," he says mildly. "I'd like to battle."

That voice. She met Oak once at a League event, and this is definitely his voice, his precise, slightly fussy 'hello'. It is him. It really is. Except that Oak is currently being intercepted by League agents in Goldenrod, taken from the radio tower to the Gym in case of trouble, and the man in front of her almost certainly did not exist a few hours ago.

He reaches into his pocket, and scowls when his hand comes back empty.

"Excuse me," he says. "Excuse me."

There's something off with his repetition, something inhuman. His intonation and inflection are exactly, uncannily matched between each sentence. Like he spoke, and then rewound the tape to speak again.

"Hello, Professor," says Emilia cautiously. "My name is Emilia Santangelo, legal adviser to the League. We've met before. Do you remember?"

Oak's eyes are lively and intelligent. He seems to understand her. And yet, when he opens his mouth, all that comes out is:

"Hello. I'd like to battle."

Emilia glances at Colbert.

"He hasn't said anything else," she says. "That's it."

Oak reaches for his pocket and frowns again.

"Excuse me. Excuse me."

"All right, Professor." Emilia flicks her eyes at Nadia and holds out her hand for her to hop onto. "I just need to run a quick test …"

Nadia draws a blank: Oak's mind, if he has one, is impenetrable, a shifting mass of blotched squares and interference patterns startlingly similar to the impression left in the trace by Artemis' spire. BB97 is currently on another assignment, but Emilia suspects she knows what it would make of this already. She has Colbert show her Oak's poké balls and gets Nadia to peer into them for form's sake, and has her suspicions confirmed. Each ball's occupant is as brokenly mindless as Oak himself.

Emilia taps her pen against her teeth, thinking. Soon Giovanni will be here, and then he can take over with Oak. What she needs to do now is go through the testimony, see if anyone saw Oak himself at the scene, eliminate any photographs or video, cut him out of the narrative. Phone calls to the mayor's office, to sympathetic journalists, to Lorelei. After that, a visit to the farms, maybe, see if she can pinpoint from the trace where exactly Oak came from. Colbert hasn't been able to give her any information other than 'from the north'.

Her ideas about what she should do well up and up and spread out through her head, concealing the bigger question of _how_. Emilia does not want to admit it, but even now it's clear that this is breach again, if of a different kind. Second time in as many weeks, after ten years of nothing. And now in Giovanni's city.

"Hello," says Oak, his broken-record voice drifting down the hall towards her. "I'd like to battle."

* * *

Giovanni Dioli arrives in an immaculately tailored black suit and a grave mood, trailing in his wake several carefully nondescript men and women who are probably not to be found on any official list of his Gym's employees. While they sweep downstairs to deal with Oak and his pokémon, Emilia insinuates herself among them and introduces herself to Giovanni.

"Santangelo, isn't it?" he asks, pausing. "You work for Lorelei."

 _As, I suspect, do you_ , thinks Emilia.

"More or less," she says aloud, nudging Nadia with her mind. "Would you mind coming with me a moment? I think your team have things in hand here."

"Of course," he says. "Abby, you're in charge. Make sure Steve doesn't screw anything up."

"Yes, sir," says a woman carrying a machine of uncertain function, and as she hurries off after her colleagues, Emilia takes Giovanni aside into an unused conference room.

"The official line is a rampaging gyarados," she tells him. "The mayor and key journalists have already been informed. It shouldn't be hard to stick to it. As far as I can see, there are no photographs to deal with, and the only people who have seen Oak are currently in hospital; I'll be heading over there when I'm done here, and after that I'll leave them in your hands."

Giovanni nods, immediately picking up the thread of her thoughts.

"I'm having copies of the contracts made up at the Gym right now," he says. "You're very efficient, Ms Santangelo. I had heard good things, but I confess I didn't expect to find the situation quite so well contained."

"What I've done is the easy part, Mr Dioli." Giovanni isn't like Brock; Emilia can tell he's a surname kind of man. "We still have our superfluous Oak to deal with." She gives him a frank look. On her shoulder, Nadia tenses. "Mr Dioli, I'm not going to pretend that either of us doesn't know what we're looking at here. Lorelei is going to ask me, so please, make my job easier and tell me: is there a possibility that this could be breach?"

Giovanni does not quite stare. He's too good for that. But he stands very still for a moment, and then smiles broadly.

"Well, you're as good as they say you are, eh?" He chuckles. "I'm curious: I'm sure you know through Lorelei, but how did you know that _I_ knew?"

Emilia thinks. Best not to give too much away here.

"Your equipment," she says. "You didn't just turn up here yourself with some guards, you brought half a laboratory with you. That's the response of someone who knows what he's looking at. And from what I've seen already, I think that what we're looking at is breach."

Giovanni nods slowly.

"Very good," he says. " _Very_ good. Yes, Ms Santangelo. Yes, I believe this almost certainly _is_ breach." He gestures elegantly at the door through which they entered. "My team is equipped with instrumentation roughly analogous to that porygon they always send, what's-its-name―"

"BB97."

"Yes, that's the one. BB97. If our Oak was created by, or arrived in Viridian by means of, breach, we will soon know." Giovanni watches her with sharp, dark eyes. Nadia rustles her wings a little: a little signal to be careful, that the appraisal here is going both ways. The reminder is unnecessary, but welcome all the same. "If you know enough to see that this is breach," he continues, "then you must also know that this conversation is not happening."

"Of course," says Emilia. "The League does not study breach."

Giovanni is silent for a moment.

"No," he agrees. "It doesn't."

 _LYING_ , says Nadia. And then, unexpectedly: _WAIT. NO. TRUE. NO. … NOT SURE._

Emilia bites down hard and just about stops herself from jumping. This is unprecedented. In all their years of working together, Nadia has never, ever been uncertain. She either knows something or she doesn't. And yet now …

"Something the matter, Ms Santangelo?" asks Giovanni. He is smiling very faintly, and Emilia is suddenly gripped with the conviction that he knows, that he walked into this room and unlike everybody else did not forget the natu, in fact was counting on her, was waiting for this moment at which her unfailing psychic feedback suddenly and spectacularly failed.

None of this shows. Emilia is a professional, and she gives Giovanni a professional smile.

"No," she says innocently. "Not at all." She clasps her hands together in a final sort of way. "Well, that was my only real question for you," she tells him brightly. "Thank you. It makes my job much easier if I can be certain."

"Not at all. I can let you know what results our scans get, if you like."

Emilia really does have to struggle not to stare now. Something's gone very wrong here. First Giovanni denies everything – and somehow throws Nadia off, too – and now he's offering her the results that would demonstrably prove his denial was false? What kind of game is this?

"That … would be very helpful," she replies. "Thank you, Mr Dioli."

"Don't mention it," he says, a little joke at their own weird half-world of secrets, and Emilia smiles briefly. "Now, is there anything else I can do for you, or …?"

"No, that's it. I'll let you go now; I'm sure your team needs you."

"Oh, I'm sure they're fine. You'd be surprised at how competent the League's got these days," he says. "I'll see you later, Ms Santangelo."

"Goodbye."

He leaves. Emilia leans against the table, trying to process what just happened.

"Nadia," she says.

 _?_

"I think he won that one."

 _YES_.

"God damn it." Emilia sighs and raises a thumbnail halfway to her mouth before realising what she's doing and letting it fall again, unbitten. "What was that, Nadia? You weren't sure if he was lying or what?"

 _NOT SURE_ , mutters Nadia sulkily. _FURRET MAN_.

"I can't disagree there." Emilia sighs again. "Something's not right with this. More than the second Oak, I mean." She paces up and down the room, prodding her brain into gear. "Think. What did I say? The League doesn't study breach. And he said no. And you weren't sure whether that was a lie or not."

There is an explanation here, she's certain; it's right there, hovering just beyond her reach. There is a story that makes sense of the strangeness in Giovanni's manner. Emilia has been in this business a long time, and she's developed a nose for these things. She is no longer entirely convinced that this is just the League pretending not to do dangerous research; that wouldn't explain Nadia's uncertainty about the lie. Something else is going on here. Something deeper, and correspondingly darker.

Emilia feels herself sag. What a conclusion. She doesn't want this. She's a League woman, through and through. Eight out of ten, right? And this is just one of the remaining two. No institution is perfect, and that goes double when it's governments you're talking about. And she has a vileplume at home who is dying and taking with her the better part of Emilia's life.

Just do your job, she tells herself. Just do your job and go home to Effie.

But if it isn't the League doing something it's pretending not to, then maybe it's a _threat_ to the League. And as she just said, she's a League woman. Through and through.

And the fear in Artemis' eyes …

Nadia cheeps and shifts, made uneasy by the discomfort radiating from her head. Emilia reaches up, lets her hop onto her hand where the psychic vibrations will be quieter.

"Let's do our jobs, Nadia," she says, with a decisiveness she does not feel. "Let's just do our jobs and see what happens."

Nadia broadcasts a thin wave of assent. Emilia stops pacing, adjusts her hair, breathes.

"Okay," she says. "Back out there."

* * *

Technically, visiting hours are over at the hospital, but when the League came up with ID cards for its lawyers the brief to the designer was _intimidate into submission_ and it's never failed Emilia yet. She flashes it at several people, one after the other, and watches their varying reactions: uncertainty, irritation, even fear. Nobody likes being visited by a League lawyer. It's okay. People have never liked being visited by Emilia. Her choice of career was at least in part a way to capitalise on that.

She checks in briefly with those of the cops and the trainers who are conscious, makes them aware that the League is on their side, that medical bills are covered and the investigation will be uncompromising. It's basically a matter of looking grave and talking quietly, of downplaying her race to become a reassuring presence, and Emilia has had a lot of practice at that kind of thing. Most of them go for it; one, a cop who clearly dislikes the League in general and Emilia in particular and who is on a dose of painkillers high enough have stripped away a few of his inhibitions, tells her to fuck off. She smiles blandly and leaves him to his broken ribs.

After that come the farm labourers. The doctors really don't want her disturbing them, but Emilia is nothing if not persistent, and she talks her way into getting five minutes in the ward. She's about to go in when she spots a familiar face lurking down the corridor, texting frantically.

"You know you're supposed to switch your phone off here, Mark," she says, and the man looks up guiltily. Long face, lantern jaw. Ginger hair doing its best to escape from a tight haircut.

"What? Oh." He flips his phone case closed and holds it close to his chest. "It's you."

Emilia isn't supposed to like Mark Trelawney. Investigative journalists allied to various left-wing publications are exactly the sort of people who burrow under the surface of League cover stories and end up exploding secrets. But she's always believed in the freedom of the press, even if her current job sometimes makes this a difficult principle to uphold, and so despite their opposing viewpoints she has a certain amount of respect for him. He makes her life harder, sure – but those in power should never be comfortable. Heavy is the head and all that.

So she tells herself. When she's dealing with a two-out-of-ten case, like this one, it doesn't do much to put her misgivings to rest.

"What are you doing here, Mark?" she asks, stepping out of the way of a passing nurse. "A gyarados attack doesn't seem your thing. Aren't there any corporate evils that need vanquishing?"

"Sure there is. There's one standing right in front of me, with a League badge and three-hundred-florin shoes." It's all in fun. Nadia is watching carefully, of course, but Emilia hasn't tuned her mind to hers: this is more a social call than an interrogation.

"You're losing your touch, Mark," says Emilia, shaking her head. "Twenty-five, from a flea market in Galkirk Village."

"Still bankrolled by the Man," he replies, cutting his crisp Fuchsia accent with an exaggerated hippy drawl, and she laughs.

"I think it's a woman, actually," she tells him, thinking of Lorelei. "What are you doing here?"

Mark grins.

"Gyarados attacks farmsteads north of Viridian, nobody even tries throwing a poké ball? That's not a wild animal, Santangelo. That's a terrorist attack."

He's good. These are the sort of details that Emilia fudges expertly, burying beneath evasions and circumlocutions, but Mark has a kind of dogged sensibleness about him. No matter how elegantly Emilia claims two and two make seventeen, he'll always put them together to make four.

She admires this. She really does. It's important for the Kantan people to have people like Mark Trelawney on their side. But it's also bloody inconvenient.

"I suppose you've got proof of this wild claim?" she asks, and Mark tuts, wagging a reproving finger.

"Now what kind of a journalist would I be if I just up and told you that?" he asks. "Nah, I'll let you work it out yourself. Put those taxpayer florins to work, yeah?"

Emilia raises an eyebrow. It's exactly the kind of evasion that gets around Nadia's particular skills: a rhetorical question can cover a truth, but isn't definitively a lie.

"I'm hurt, Mark. Nadia's not even listening in. Are you?"

Nadia cheeps. It isn't a definite yes or no.

"Never trust a League goon," says Mark. "Anyway, why are _you_ here, Santangelo? The League doesn't send its terrier to bark at a random gyarados with the fury."

Emilia smiles.

"Well, you'd have to ask my bosses that," she replies. "I'm just the attack dog, after all."

Mark utters a short bark of a laugh that draws a disapproving look from a nearby doctor.

"You willing to set me up? That'd be the interview of the century."

"Call me later," she says, injecting a precise quantity of irony into her voice. "We can work something out over a romantic candlelit dinner."

He grins and shakes his head.

"Man," he says. "And I thought you didn't like me."

"I'm sure I don't know what you were thinking with." Emilia feels Nadia's mind pressing at the edges of her own, reminding her of why she's here. "Anyway, Mark, I have some people to talk to. Don't make too much trouble now."

"What, and leave you out of a job? I can't believe you think I'd hurt you that way."

She makes a face at him and then turns to the door, composing herself. Time to be serious, now. Injured people to talk to, information to extract. Hopefully Mark hasn't done too much damage here already.

 _Ready, Nadia?_ she thinks, and as the answering bubble of confirmation reaches her mind she pushes open the door to the ward.

Eight men and women, attendant anxious family members. Calming words to be uttered, assurances to be given. Emilia does it all herself, the old-fashioned way. She's come to accept Nadia's help in reading people, over the years, but she refuses to use her psychic powers any more actively than that. People deserve better than that from her. The day she starts pushing thoughts is the day she's no longer to be trusted with her position.

In among the kindness – and it _is_ kindness; Emilia does feel for these people, caught up in horrific random violence that is no fault of theirs – there are questions. Gentle encouragement. Did you get pictures? Video? We need information. We cannot overlook any evidence in this investigation. We want to get to the bottom of this. We owe it to you.

Most people were just trying to run. Three lost their phones in the chaos. One woman, a girl really, just eighteen (and Emilia thinks of the other girl whose life breach has touched, Artemis, with a sudden explosive rush of guilt) – she has a few seconds of blurry video, recorded from her hiding place in an old coal cellar before the gyarados thumped the ground above her and the roof fell down on her leg. Emilia watches the clip carefully, and sees only the dragon. No Oak.

"Thank you," she says sincerely, handing the phone back. "Someone will come to collect a copy of this soon."

"Is it helpful?" asks the girl, wide-eyed, bloodless with pain. "I wanted to … I hoped it would help someone."

Emilia nods her most solemn nod.

"Yes," she says. "You've been very helpful, Claire. Thank you."

By the time she leaves, Mark is gone. Briefly, she considers the possibility that someone else might have had information that he persuaded them not to divulge, but Nadia has been watching everyone she spoke to and detected no evasions. If he _has_ got anything from these people, it must have been without them knowing what it was. It's a remote possibility, and even if it's true, there isn't much she can do about it. For now, she can be certain at least that there aren't any images of Oak to find their way onto TV or the news sites.

She walks down corridors whose windows show darkness and lashing rain. The storm is still raging out there – harder now, if anything. Emilia shakes her head. Kanto in the summer. She'd say there's nowhere else like it, but of course there probably is, somewhere.

Her mind turns back to, of all things, Artemis. She must be at least a week into her journey now, surely? She got the salandit, after all. And the way she looked at it when it crawled into her hands, Emilia has a feeling that she really, really wanted to leave town. (She has theories about this, about why a young trans woman might ask that Emilia meet her at the Gym rather than her home, about why she would want a way out of Pewter, but she tries not to think about it. There is more than enough pain in the world already.) By now, Artemis is probably at Mt Moon, or deep in Viridian Forest.

"Stay dry out there," murmurs Emilia, allowing herself a moment of sentimentality, a moment of fear, a moment more than anything to remember where she came from, and then she puts Artemis from her mind and walks out to her waiting taxi, dialling Lorelei's number. She has an update to report.

* * *

The Viridian Pokémon Centre is in the middle of a tight warren of pedestrianised streets, grey and empty in the pouring rain. Cass and Artemis have to run a block from the stop to get there, water cracking across them like whips; when at last they plunge through automatic doors into the pool of warm electric light, they are completely soaked, but laughing. The way Artemis sees it, you have two choices if you have to go out in a summer thunderstorm: you can grouch and sulk at the way the heavy rain pulverises your umbrella and flattens you into the earth, or you can laugh at how ridiculous it is, at how completely powerless you are to not get wet, and come away feeling strangely fulfilled. And she's not one to turn down fulfilment when it comes her way.

She gets lucky. Because of their age, which surrounds them with an unspoken awkwardness in this hive of children, she and Cass get a twin room with an en suite bathroom. It's intended to spare them the ordeal of sharing the public bathrooms with the kids (and the kids that of sharing it with _them_ , for that matter) but it also lets Artemis sidestep the two doors, M and F, through which those bathrooms are accessed. She is deeply, slightly pathetically grateful for this, aware as she is that she would not be welcome in either, even among people her own age.

The downside is that, well, she's sharing a room with Cass, someone she only met this afternoon. But Artemis has already committed to travelling with her, so she's going to have to get used to her sooner or later, and anyway there's no way that Cass doesn't know what she is by now. So. She manages. And Cass, for her part, does absolutely nothing to dispel the polite fiction that lets Artemis go through the motions of her life without sudden debilitating self-disgust.

Artemis reflects that she's pretty lucky, really. Of all the people she could have bumped into on the road to Viridian, Cass is one of the better ones.

Cleaner and more comfortable, moving for the first time in a while without the weight of their backpacks to slow them down, they go downstairs to get something to eat from the cafeteria. Pokémon Centres are not known for their food, but it's free, and even if it wasn't it beats going out in the rain to find something elsewhere in town. The hall is bustling with activity: children, yes, most ten or eleven but some as old as fifteen, and all around them pokémon, slithering and scuttling and flapping and gnawing and creating a thousand different smells and noises. It's a thick enough commotion to be crushing, to press heavily at the edges of Artemis' skull, but she breathes and blanks it out and retreats into a corner with Cass to eat in relative peace.

"Never really felt _old_ before," says Cass, staring out at the hall. "This is weird."

"Yeah," agrees Artemis, pouring some of Brauron's insect pellets into a saucer. "Very."

Ringo eyes the pellets, gauging how quick he'll have to be to snatch one without Brauron stopping him, and Artemis gladly moves her attention away from the chattering kids and onto him.

"You don't want those," she says. "They're made of ash."

Ringo caws. Brauron crouches, makes her markings glow, and he flutters across the table to perch on Cass' shoulder, where he preens himself in an unconvincing imitation of nonchalance.

"Birdbrain," says Cass affectionately, petting his little head. "Probably thinks they're seeds or something."

She and Artemis eat quickly, wanting to get out of the low-level chaos that seems to reign in here, and take Brauron and Ringo out through the lobby into the lounge, which is at the very least slightly quieter. Some kids playing with handheld consoles on one sofa, their nidoran and growlithe staring intrigued at the colours on the screens; a couple of older trainers watching the news on TV. Artemis sits down and starts watching too, while Brauron finishes off her meal in her lap.

"… is that this is a rare instance of a lake gyarados coming down from the Tohjo mountain range," a voice is saying, over footage of a shattered building, the rippling walls of a psychic barrier in the background. "There have been no casualties reported, but seventeen people and nine pokémon are in hospital, three of whom are said to be in a serious condition."

"Hey," says Cass, leaning on the back of the sofa. "Is that the place we saw when we were coming into town?"

"Looks like it," replies Artemis. "Apparently it's a _gyarados_."

It happens sometimes, especially during summer storms like this: some switch will flip at the base of a gyarados' brain, some ancient dragon instinct flare into life, and they'll rear up out of their lakes or oceans and go berserk. Artemis has never heard of one coming into Viridian, but there's no reason why it couldn't happen. Gyarados are pokémon, and there are weird forces lurking deep inside them: when the fury strikes, they can cover land distances that seem impossible for creatures of the water.

"Weird," says Cass. Artemis doesn't answer. The screen now shows the studio, where the newscaster is sitting behind her desk, backed by a photograph of the unconscious gyarados. It's difficult to say without any point of reference, but it looks like a big one.

"Reports have surfaced, however, of a trainer working with the gyarados," says the newscaster. "Video footage from an undisclosed source purports to show this individual directing the dragon's efforts."

Cut to what has to be a phone camera: howling rain, terrible visibility, and a huge grainy shape rearing and thrashing dimly in the middle distance. The sound of the storm, of thunder and pounding raindrops. Harsh, panicked breath and occasional bleeped-out curses. The gyarados curves its neck, a pixellated ghost in the rain, and then for a split second the gloom of the rain vanishes in a screaming burst of white light and by the awful glow of the hyper beam Artemis can just about make out a figure at the dragon's side, dwarfed by the vast bulk of its throat.

It has one arm out, pointing. The pose is strangely familiar. Artemis used it herself earlier that day, when she directed Brauron to victory in her first battle.

The footage freezes, and the voiceover continues.

"It is unclear at this time whether this is as the rumours claim the gyarados' partner or a bystander caught up in the attack," says the newscaster. "The Indigo League has as yet issued no statement about this footage, but assured representatives of the press that its investigation was ongoing, and that every possible angle was being considered."

Cass stares.

"What the hell? Why would someone _do_ that?" she asks. "There isn't even anything there, it's just – just a farm."

Artemis holds Brauron closer to her chest, where she can feel the warmth of her inner fires. For some reason, she feels cold and weak.

"I don't know," she replies. The TV zooms in on the little silhouette, pixellating it into an indistinct morass of colour. "I don't know."

She has a feeling she does know. But she's aware that she is paranoid, she has delusions, and so she tells herself that she does not know, that there is no reason to believe that she is right. There is no conspiracy in Viridian.

Except that just denying it isn't the way you make it go away, and so it all sits in her and festers, the gyarados and the pixel figure and shapes in the night and scanners and Gym Leaders and spires of singing light, and as the sense of a conspiracy deepens she finds herself coming back to that one word, again and again.

Breach.


	6. 06: A Guide to Amateur Spycraft

**06: A GUIDE TO AMATEUR SPYCRAFT**

Artemis does some research. Every Pokémon Centre has a computer room, wired up to the specialist apparatus that gives access to the box network, and, telling Cass she has some emails to write, she holes up in a corner here and logs on with the number on her trainer card.

"Okay," she mutters to Brauron, perched atop the monitor. "Let's see if we can figure out what the brad thing was all about."

 _Brad_ , unsurprisingly, gets her nowhere. She tries adding it to other terms from the instructions, tries doing it minus all the results for people, but still, she learns very little other than (a) there's a kind of nail called a brad and (b) the name Bradley means 'broad clearing'. She stares at the results for a while, wrestles with and tries to refine them, but doesn't get anything even remotely helpful.

"Damn it." She sighs and looks at Brauron. "Okay, scratch 'spy' off the list of potential things to do with my life, I guess. I'm terrible at this."

Brauron licks her eyes, and Artemis rolls hers.

"That's what you always say," she says. "Okay. What about …"

She tries searching for _breach_ , then _breach_ \+ _brad_ , then _breach_ \+ _brad_ \+ _Giovanni_. The resultant mishmash of out-of-date news and League registers doesn't tell her anything except that the last-but-one Leader of the Viridian Gym was named Brad. Part of her leaps on this like a cat after a laser pointer, but the bigger part shakes its head and writes it off as coincidence. Giovanni's headed the Gym since 1995. Isabella Black ran it for eight years before that, and that means Brad Wickman hasn't had anything to do with it for over thirty years. He might even be dead by now. Or no, wait, his stub of a Wikipedia page says he's retired to Olivine in Johto.

"Damn it." Artemis scratches her head. "We're missing something here, kiddo. But what?"

Brauron slips sedately down the side of the monitor and climbs the side of the computer itself, pressing herself against the warm plastic.

"Please don't break that," Artemis says. "What are we not getting here?"

It might just be that there's nothing available online. That is eminently possible. But Artemis still has the feeling that she hasn't exhausted this avenue of investigation yet, that if she just puts these pieces together in the right order, part of the jigsaw picture will suddenly leap out at her.

She glares at the screen, and searches again. Except this time she mistypes slightly, B being right above the space bar, and searches _b rad_ instead of _brad_ – and though the results are more or less the same, she blinks and stares, transfixed. B rad. What if it wasn't a word at all? The instructions were so truncated and cut down, they must have been written out in a hurry. What if it's short for something? And come on, Artie, what would _rad_ be short for?

 _B radiation_ gets her a Wikipedia page on beta radiation – and, a page or two deeper down the rabbit hole, the information that _rad_ itself is the name of a unit of measurement for dosages of absorbed radiation. Which actually makes an unpleasant amount of sense, although she's not convinced that the B really stood for _beta_. A scientist would write β, right? And though of course Artemis can't be sure, not without the note here in front of her, she is mostly certain that it didn't say that. It said B.

Which leaves one other option. There is of course another word that begins with B, and which has haunted this whole series of events, right the way back to when that spire appeared to her on the hill.

Breach. Breach radiation. The scanner that Giovanni brought to those woods was designed to detect the traces of a breach.

Artemis hunches in her chair, obscurely afraid, although there is nothing she can point to as an immediate threat. No one has come after her. Nobody has done a damn thing since Giovanni scanned her for breach radiation in the middle of the night. It might be that she isn't irradiated enough, or that all they wanted to do was test whether she really had been as close to the spire as she claimed. But if so, why like that? Why in secret, in the middle of nowhere, after everyone else told her that all of this was over and she was free to get on with her journey?

She can't answer this. She can say, however, that she was right to be suspicious. Giovanni was playing games after all.

She has never before in her entire life been this unhappy to be proven right.

Brauron puts a forefoot on her hand and Artemis looks down to see her crouched over the keyboard, eyes fixed on her trainer's face.

"Hey," she says, picking her up, holding her close. "Don't worry about me. I'm okay, I promise."

But she's not. And no matter how much she strokes her salandit, the question still remains: what is Giovanni doing? And whatever it is, why can't she just walk away?

* * *

There are a few really spectacularly bad ways to be proven wrong, and 'live on national TV' is pretty high up there. Lorelei was not happy with Emilia last night. Nor was anyone else up on the Plateau. About an hour before the Tohjo Regional News broadcast went out, she called them up to say that she'd vetted the photos and videos and found nothing in them but the gyarados. Needless to say, this did not go over well.

"Talk to me, Emilia," Lorelei said, and if her tone didn't give it away the full name definitely did. "Tell me what the _hell_ happened here."

So Emilia did, she said _Mark Trelawney happened here_ , and then Lorelei asked who and she explained. Journalist. He was at the hospital, although nobody she spoke to admitted to giving him anything (and Nadia confirmed that none of them were lying.) Either he stole a phone at the ward or there was another witness who he got to first. But it's fine, she said, we can deal with this.

"Press conference, now," said Emilia. "Ask why this video wasn't brought to our attention; play it concerned, indignant. We ask for anyone who has any information about this person to come forward. No one's going to have any, but we do it anyway, go through the motions. We'll have to work with the police on this, since we have to approach it as a crime rather than a natural disaster, but I think we can handle that; the super at Viridian North already suspects Oak isn't human. All that buys us some time. Then after a few days, during which we turn up no leads because of course this really _was_ a wild gyarados, we get the cops investigating to come forward and say, based on their questioning of the people at the scene and any experts we can dig up to examine the footage, they think the person in the video is one of them, trying to get away."

And Lorelei went quiet for a bit and sighed and told her she was too damn good at her job, and went to get Bruno on the press conference while Emilia brought up news websites on her laptop and compared timestamps. The very first one to break the news was _The Cataphract:_ Mark Trelawney's usual employers. Other sites followed soon, but _The Cataphract_ was first – and its article has clearly been cannibalised by some of its less scrupulous competitors. Mark made waves that night.

An hour later, Giovanni called to let her know that according to their tests, it really was breach. Emilia thanked him politely, wondered why she ever thought he'd give himself away with written data, and swore violently as soon as he hung up.

All this was a little over ten hours ago. Now, Emilia is stepping from her taxi out into the mud around the ruined farm, into the clear light of early morning. The skies have been clear since about half one in the morning, leaving Viridian slick and shiny in the dawn light. Emilia stares. She's seen pictures, of course, but that was with the rain. Now, set against the hills and the dark swell of Viridian Forest, the devastation is much more apparent: shredded fields, levelled buildings, a burned-out husk that up until very recently was some kind of tractor. Everything stinks of fish and scorched oil.

She thinks she sees a severed foot and for a minute her heart stops, and then she looks again and sees it's just a piece of broken plastic.

Okay. She definitely needs to get some sleep at some point.

She picks her way through the mud towards the police line. There is an art to being immaculately well-dressed in crisis situations, and after all this time Emilia has it pretty much down. She does not slip and does not splash, and reaches the cops looking almost as good as she did when she got into the taxi.

"Emilia Santangelo," she says, holding out her card. "Legal advisor to the Indigo League, with special investigatory powers."

The constable nods and waves her through, clearly expecting her. Emilia smiles her thanks, ducks under the tape and crosses to where a couple of detectives are standing, drinking coffee out of polystyrene cups and staring morosely at the scattered pieces of brick and wood.

"DCI Park and DS Rodriguez?" she asks. "Emilia Santangelo, Indigo League. We met at the station."

"Hey." Park nods. He is much friendlier than Harkness, although also deadened by the scene before him, and by what he knows took place here yesterday. Rodriguez is subdued as well. Emilia can tell they both count some of those in the hospital among their friends. "Are you here to run your trace?"

"That's correct," says Emilia.

"We ran one of our own. Espeon. High sympathetic fidelity." Park shakes his head. "Strangest thing. Nothing but static."

Emilia nods.

"Did you get a direction?" she asks. "Any clue where Oak came from?"

"Nothing, ma'am," says Rodriguez. "It's too scrambled. Might be able to get something with a natu, though."

Nadia puffs her chest out, full of avian self-importance. Emilia's fairly pleased herself, despite the grim business ahead. She and Nadia do a lot of thankless work. It's nice to have their abilities recognised for once.

"That's why I'm here," says Emilia. "Do we have anything else? Tracks? The storm can't have washed out the gyarados' trail, can it?"

Park steps back and gestures out past the collapsed house to a line of shattered sheds and the remnants of a wheatfield beyond.

"Came from over there," he says. "Northwest corner of the farm. Up till then, it must've been in its ball. The trail doesn't go back any further. And Oak, or whoever he is …" He shrugs. "Nothing, not after that storm. We suspect he came south from the woods or east from the hills, but there's no evidence now. Even the dogs are stuck."

Emilia nods. She didn't expect anything else. BB97 would probably be able to detect breach radiation here, but at this point it feels redundant. In the middle of last night, Lorelei called her to say that Oak had reached containment safely, and also that he caused an electrical fire when they took him through the metal detector. And while Emilia might still have no idea what breach really is, she knows that it disrupts, that it mutates pokémon and glitches computers, breaks machines and disintegrates psychic emanations and physical matter alike. The one thing she has on her side here is that Nadia has encountered its fractured trail three times now, on the hill, in Oak's head and clinging to his pokémon. Hopefully that will be enough for her to make an attempt at pinpointing where it is that the doppelgänger originally manifested.

"I understand," she tells the two detectives. "I'll let you know immediately if I find anything."

She doesn't have a choice, of course; given that this is now a criminal investigation, the League is obliged to work with the police on this. But the polite thing to do is to pretend she's doing this of her own free will, and Emilia is nothing if not polite.

"Thanks," says Park. "We appreciate it."

"Not at all." Emilia transfers Nadia from shoulder to finger. "Okay, Nadia. In your own time."

She takes her a little closer to the farmhouse, and closes her eyes. Almost immediately, the darkness behind her eyelids is filled with random crystalline blocks of light, bits of spacetime shredded by the attack. She turns, takes Nadia back and forth across the site, but it's much, much worse than on the hill near Pewter; even the traces of the victims have been erased. The gyarados moved a lot more than the spire, and seems to have spread the interference across the whole area.

Still. There's something to work with, just. Both she and her human partner have a headache within minutes, but if she really concentrates Nadia can detect the intensity of each individual section of static. Here, a huge concentrated thicket of broken space, spars of mindstuff and jumbled fragments of time piled up atop one another: the gyarados was motionless on this spot for a time, perhaps recovering after a hyper beam. Here a place with little more than a few zigzag cracks across it: somewhere neither Oak nor his dragon ever stood. Emilia opens one eye and finds herself by a mostly-undamaged toolshed.

There is a pattern to this. The dense zones of interference form an outline of the attack, a long meandering curl of a trail that veers northward from the farmhouse across the fields, back southwest to the sheds, and then up north again to the place where the farm gives way to the uncultivated moorland. Here, it gets much weaker very suddenly, and Emilia realises they have found the spot where the gyarados was released.

She opens her eyes. They are a little sticky, and the light hurts. That was a hell of a trace. She's surprised she hasn't got a nosebleed.

"All right," she sighs. "Nadia? Five minutes."

Nadia broadcasts her agreement in a vague, undirected wave, wilting visibly. The trail is difficult to get hold of, and even more difficult to actually track, like pulling yourself up a rope made of smoke. Emilia puts her back on her shoulder and feels her little heart thumping hard next to her cheek.

"We're nearly there," she tells her. "You're doing very well."

No response. Either Nadia isn't satisfied, or she wants to save her energy. Emilia can't really blame her either way. Unless they find where Oak first manifested, they haven't uncovered anything that the police don't already know.

She looks around. Behind her, the destroyed farms stretch out in their fields of ruined earth. Ahead, beyond the gate at the farm's edge, the hills begin to rise up in waves of scrubby grass and stunted shrubs against the backdrop of the Tohjos. If she squints, she thinks she can see the gatehouses on Route 23, sectioning off the road to the Indigo Plateau. But that's obviously impossible, at this distance, so she tells herself she's imagining things and turns instead to Nadia.

"Ready to go again?" she asks, and gets a determined chirp in response. "All right. Let's go."

The gate is locked but low, and even dressed as unsuitably as she is Emilia can climb it. It occurs to her that Oak must have done the same thing before releasing the gyarados: there is no break in the hedge to mark the point where the dragon burst through. The information is not terribly useful, but she files it away along with everything else and closes her eyes.

Here is more of the same: long, angular sarcomas in the psychic plane, wobbling away up the slope. Faint, but unmistakeable, if you know what you're looking for. Emilia climbs the hill, one eye in the past and one checking for obstacles in the present, and on her finger Nadia glows purple and gives off rich, violent waves of determination as she concentrates.

After a little while, Emilia stops and closes both eyes. Something isn't right here. The trail should be getting weaker with age, but it isn't. More jags and arcs of colour; more broken shards of light. If anything, this is getting stronger.

"Nadia?" she asks. "What am I looking at here?"

 _CLOSE TO NOW_ , she replies.

Meaning – well, Emilia would be inclined to say 'closer to the present moment', but how can that be? This is the path Oak took to _get_ to the farm, not to get away from it.

 _CLOSE TO NOW_ , repeats Nadia stubbornly, sensing her thoughts. _FOLLOW_.

"Okay, okay."

Emilia keeps walking, reaches the top of the hill and begins to go down the other side. The trail thickens, the space around them growing dense with interference. Here it crosses a footpath and seems to follow it southwest into the hills, growing stronger all the time. Emilia wonders uneasily if Oak managed to release another pokémon, if she is simply walking directly into an ambush. All the poké balls he had on him were occupied. But who's to say he didn't have another on him, one that got opened and then lost in the chaos?

No, she decides. No, that doesn't work: Oak is incapable of losing his poké balls. As Colbert said, they keep returning to his pockets when taken away. This is in some ways reassuring – Emilia is most definitely not a trainer, and she has no desire to come face to face with one of his monstrously powerful breach pokémon – but in another way it's just disconcerting. Because if that isn't true, then what on earth is she following?

Then, quite suddenly, the trail begins to fade. She stops for a moment, asks Nadia to double-check, but it's true. Halfway up this path, for whatever reason, the interference trail reaches peak intensity, and then begins to taper off.

Emilia looks around and sees nothing. No disturbed grass, no sign that anyone has been here for a long time.

"Nadia?" she asks.

 _THIS IS THE NOW_.

Emilia sighs. There is a reason that natu aren't more commonly used for psy tracing. Their prophetic prowess means their sense of space and time is skewed, making their thoughts alien and cryptic. It takes years of working together for a natu and its trainer to understand each other properly, and even then there are times – like now – when the communication barrier gets in the way.

"Do we keep following the trail?" she asks, hoping to come at the issue from a different angle, to make Nadia reveal something new in her response.

 _YES_.

Less than eloquent, but all right; it's clear enough that Emilia can work with it, at least. She tells Nadia to lead on, and together they follow the fading trail further up the path into the hills.

It lasts for about a quarter of a mile, and then peters out into nothing. Emilia opens her eyes to find herself standing at the edge of a broad, flat area projecting from the side of one of the Tohjo foothills, lined with a short wooden railing and scattered with picnic tables. A nice enough place to stop for lunch on a walk through the hills, and totally devoid of any life at all, breach or otherwise.

Emilia looks at Nadia, clinging weakly to her fingers and breathing hard. She hasn't seen her this tired in a long time.

"Is this it?" she asks. "Or have you lost the trail?"

Nadia glares, as only a natu can.

 _NOT LOST_ , she maintains stubbornly. _ENDS HERE. IN THE SOON_.

Emilia pauses.

"In the soon," she repeats slowly. A trail that gets stronger until it hits 'the now', and then grows weaker until it fades out in 'the soon'.

And breach disrupts …

The penny drops, and Emilia's eyes widen.

"He hasn't appeared yet, has he?" she asks. "He's _going_ to, here, and somehow he walked – will walk – whichever – _backwards through time_ to get to the farm."

It sounds impossible, even by her standards. There are pokémon capable of time travel, Emilia knows, but as far as she understands it that's a simple teleportation thing, a near-instantaneous translocation from one point in spacetime to another. This is far, far stranger. Oak's trail begins here, in the future, and gets stronger and stronger as it approaches the present moment – Nadia's 'the now' – after which it grows weaker until it hits last night, at the farm, where somehow he reconnected with time as Emilia knows it and started moving forwards again as he began the attack.

She snaps her fingers.

"The spire," she says. "It didn't just make it dark, it made it _night_. It broke time. And – wait. Nadia, how soon is 'soon'?"

 _SOME TIME_ , she replies. _MAYBE NOON_.

It's not very specific, but it's as close as a natu can come to expressing a set time in human terms; it took three years of work together before Nadia could say anything like this or Emilia understand it. It also raises a hell of a lot of questions. Emilia's first instinct is to tell Lorelei immediately, to have people stationed here to capture Oak before he has a chance to sic his gyarados on anyone – but what happens to last night if she does that? And the trail: if he never goes back to make it, how would her past self have followed it up here? And if Oak is caught before he can be taken into custody yesterday, then what happens to the one the League currently has in containment?

Nadia blinks and flutters weakly down onto the railing, lacking the energy to engage with the knot of paradoxical thought swirling around her partner's head. Emilia wishes she could do the same. But Nadia's done her part, and now she has to do hers. Only it's no longer apparent what hers actually _is_ , at this point.

She sighs. Perhaps it's time to delegate. She can give this information to Lorelei and let one of her scientists figure it out. Nobody is supposed to know it, but Emilia is almost entirely sure that the League has at least one world expert on time travel on its books.

Emilia turns and looks back down the slope, over the hills towards the ruins of the two farms. From up here, the wreckage seems tiny, like scattered Lego bricks in fields of mud.

She sighs again and shakes her head.

"Well," she says, holding out her hand for Nadia to hop onto. "I don't know how we're going to explain this to DCI Park, but I suppose we'd better go back and try."

* * *

Artemis has a strange night.

Not a bad one; no hallucinations, and, for the first time in a while, no nightmares either. But she hasn't shared a room with someone since … well, it's hard to be sure. Since she was fifteen, maybe? There was a trip, some school thing, at a camp of some kind in the woods near Mt Moon. She spent three nights away from home in a dormitory full of teenage boys, miserable and afraid and unsure why, and then next year she tore up the permission slip and the letter to her parents and burned them with Chelle's lighter on her way home from school.

And between that trip and this one is four years and a period of hermitage, as well as a sudden wrenching change of self, so Artemis is in many ways somewhat out of practice. She has to steel herself, to be seen unready, without make-up or breasts. In her pyjamas, Cass looks like Cass. In hers, Artemis looks unfinished.

It's okay. Cass catches herself staring before it becomes obvious enough to be aggressive, and does her best to go on as if nothing is different. Artemis is painfully grateful. She shouldn't be, she deserves this, but the thing is that everybody knows they can refuse it to her with society's blessing and so she is grateful anyway.

They switch off the lights and lie there in their beds, listening to the rain doing its best to tear the window out of its frame. On Artemis' bedside cabinet, Brauron's markings glow gently in the dark.

"Artemis," says Cass.

Artemis looks across at her. She is staring directly up, into the ceiling.

"Yeah?" she replies.

"I never said exactly why I'm doing my journey now." Cass pauses. Artemis hears her draw in a steadying breath. "I didn't do so good at Silverleaf. Not really my kinda place. They paid for me to come and then I did and I almost didn't even pass my exams at the end of it."

Artemis says nothing. She understands, in some way, that this is Cass apologising for her behaviour on the bus. A weakness traded for a weakness. Sins cancelling each other out.

"That kinda upset some people," Cass continues. "People who were like expecting me to have a very different future to what I'm looking at now. Teachers. Parents."

Pause. Sound of rain sluicing across rooftops.

"Yeah," says Artemis. "My parents were expecting something different from me too."

Cass looks at her. Artemis can't see her face clearly in the dark but she can see that her head has moved.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Cass moves her head back again.

"Yeah," she repeats. "I guess you'd know all about that kinda thing."

Another silence. A shadow moves and makes Artemis tense up, but it's just Ringo shuffling on his perch.

"So anyway, I decided I should clear out for a while and think some things through," says Cass. "And, uh, here we are."

"Yeah," says Artemis. "Here we are."

Lightning makes the gap around the curtains flare brilliant white. Immediately after, thunder rolls out overhead.

"Cass," says Artemis.

"Yeah?"

"You know it was okay. On the bus, I mean. It happens."

"Yeah, well, maybe it shouldn't." Cass sighs. "Thanks."

"Night, Cass."

"Night."

The storm rages. Artemis imagines the world outside, a maze of running water and dripping roofs, of pigeons squished up against pidgey beneath cornices as animal and pokémon alike flee the rain, and lets out a breath that she was unaware that she was holding.

The first leg of the journey is over. Tomorrow – well, tomorrow there are adventures to be had, and also terrifying mysteries to investigate, but tonight, it's time to take advantage of civilisation while she's here, and to rest.

Artemis closes her eyes, and does not dream of anything at all.

* * *

Cass wants a ditto.

"How cool would that be?" she says, over breakfast the next morning. "The pokémon with a thousand faces! Or, okay, it's just got that one face, I guess, with the weird little smile, but a thousand _shapes_ , anyway. If you can teach it to memorise like, let's say five different shapes, that's pretty much a pokémon for every situation. Right?"

Artemis peels an egg for Brauron and waits patiently for her to stop talking.

"Okay, you don't have to convince me," she says. "You want a ditto, you catch one."

"Well, that's the thing. Ringo, _no_ , that is most definitely people food. _Ringo!_ Okay, where was I? Right. So the thing is, according to the Pokédex, there are some wild ditto up on the moors near the Tohjo Mountains. You know, around Route 23? And like I know you're heading for Cinnabar, but I was wondering if maybe …"

"You want to detour to the hills?" asks Artemis.

"Yeah."

Cass looks a little concerned. Wondering, maybe, if she blew it yesterday, if Artemis will now abandon her. Or maybe Artemis is just projecting. Either way, she's not about to leave behind the one trainer she's met so far who's her own age, and she has a whole _year_ , right, so what's the harm in stopping off? Maybe she'll find something to add to her team, too, although to be honest she feels like one pokémon is enough for now, given how early in their career she and Brauron both are.

And anyway, this lets her put off looking for answers on Cinnabar Island for one more day.

"So," says Cass. "Is that like okay?"

"Sure it is," says Artemis. "Why not? It's a nice day for a walk anyway."

The air is still cool from the storm, although it feels like it will be hot again by this afternoon, and Viridian drips all around them as they walk down to the bus stop. One of the pedestrianised streets is at least fifty per cent puddle, and it takes some thoughtful footwork to get to the other end with dry socks. But the sun is bright and the breeze fine, and they walk lightly, backpacks left in the room at the Centre, and all in all it's just a good day to be out and moving and alive. A man walks by with a growlithe and a regular puppy that chase each other around through the puddles, splashing uproariously, and Artemis feels her heart lift a little. Why _shouldn't_ she detour to the moors, anyway? It's not like anyone has done anything since Giovanni. Maybe the League is done with her. Maybe she doesn't even need to do any investigating; maybe everything is over; maybe now she's just looking at the year of freedom she'd been expecting, without breach hanging over her like the sword of Damocles.

It's a nice thought. She tries not to get too attached to it, because nice thoughts so often turn out to be just that, just thoughts, but it lingers in her head all through the bus ride, unwilling to depart.

Outside the window, Viridian rolls by in waves of unprepossessing concrete. According to its Wikipedia page – which Artemis read before setting out from home, because of course she did – the city centre was more or less eviscerated in the sixties and rebuilt with a great deal of enthusiasm and substantially less architectural talent. The buildings are monumental and cast long, solid shadows across the streets; the ground floors have all been remodelled, walls ripped out and replaced with glass for maximum store frontage, but above that the concrete stretches on, grey and unbroken till the rooftops. It has its own charm, in a brutal kind of way, but there's far too much of it. Artemis turns away after a while and flicks through her phone while Brauron watches the screen carefully, interested and confused.

Cement gives way to suburbia gives way to grassland, and then they're as far out as the bus will take them and it's time to get off. Artemis stands there by the roadside and looks back at the grey bulk of the city, then forward, at the blue shadow of the mountains rising above the hills. She thinks that distant shape there might be Mt Silver, where the skarmory and tyranitar breed. Isn't that cool? She thinks it's cool.

Cass stretches her arms and lets go of Ringo, who has been itching to spread his wings all morning and now immediately flies on ahead across the field in that stop-start way that spearow do.

"Not too far!" she calls, without getting a response. She rolls her eyes and turns to Artemis. "Okay," she says. "Let's get going before he manages to get himself into trouble."

"Does he do that a lot?" asks Artemis, walking with her, feeling the wet grass slithering across her legs. Brauron is motionless beneath her clavicle, just like normal. She isn't sure her nerves could take it if she ran around out of sight the way Ringo's doing.

"Only when he hasn't flown around much." Up ahead, Ringo explodes out of the long grass, drops of water spraying from his wings, and manages to fly a full twelve feet before descending back to earth in a clatter of feathers. "But like, spearow aren't very _good_ at flying, so I think it's okay. He can't go far."

The field slopes up towards a stand of trees, where the two of them climb over a stile and find Ringo scrabbling around the dirt track beyond, pecking at bugs. He seems to have worked off some of his energy, and settles readily back onto Cass' shoulder when he sees her. His feet leave grime on her t-shirt, but she doesn't seem to mind. Artemis understands. Brauron tracks soot everywhere herself, and yet she wouldn't have her any other way.

Cass talks excitedly about ditto. She seems taken with the idea of a shifting, mobile response to any given opponent. Artemis doesn't have the heart to suggest that it might be difficult to get a ditto to memorise so many different shapes. Don't they normally just turn into things they can see in front of them? And okay, she's not an expert, but she's only ever seen one or two in the televised tournaments. She has a feeling these are the exception rather than the rule.

Still. Cass is a nice person and she'll be good to her ditto, so if she finds one that wants to work with her then who is Artemis to get in her way? This makes her think about how you _would_ find one, given their incredible skill at camouflage, and actually that's kind of a big issue so she summons up her courage and points it out to Cass.

"Oh," she says in response, looking nonplussed. "I, uh, didn't think of that. Oops."

"Kind of important if we're gonna go looking for ditto," says Artemis.

"Yeah," agrees Cass. "I see that. Um … I guess we wander around and hope one jumps out at us? Like there's no point trying to catch one that doesn't want to be trained."

Artemis guesses so too.

The path winds its way in long loops through the hills, rising steadily westwards. Cass says it's pretty inefficient, and maybe they should just go straight over the top of the next one. Artemis looks at the banks of thick grass and vividly flowered gorse, and invites her to try. Two steps in, Cass makes a face and comes back again, wincing as the thorns drag at her legs.

"How'd you know it would be like that?" she asks.

 _I saw gorse in a book and looked it up online_ , thinks Artemis.

"I mean, it looks pretty spiky," she says, and Cass sighs.

"Yeah, looking before I leap isn't exactly my strong suit," she says.

Artemis smiles politely. She has spent more or less the whole of her life up till this point looking, readying herself for the leap.

"Right," she says, and with an effort keeps the bitterness from her voice. It's not Cass' fault that her brain is wired the way it is, after all.

They climb. Around their feet, the trail gets narrower and narrower; above them, the sun climbs and begins to heat the air. The mountains ahead don't get any clearer, but the hills get higher and higher and, looking back, Artemis sees Viridian diminish into a distance-dim toy city, grey and indistinct.

She smells burning, and feels the beginnings of a headache gathering at her temples.

Sometime around mid-morning, Ringo swoops low over a patch of long grass and flushes out a nidoran, its dark fur thick with spines and poison. Seeing humans, it turns and issues a challenge in guttural chucking sounds, levelling its horn and scratching at the dirt.

"Never seen a black one before," says Cass, staring. "Is that a colour morph or a different species?"

"Not sure," replies Artemis. "Maybe concentrate on beating it first?"

Like most battles against wild pokémon, the fight is short and decisive: Ringo flaps around, squawking and shrugging off the nidoran's attempts to kick him until, confused and annoyed, it feints with its horn to drive him off and flees into the undergrowth.

"Neat!" says Cass, as Ringo returns to her shoulder. "Nice work, buster."

"Yeah," says Artemis. "Nice work."

The black nidoran isn't the only wild pokémon they meet, but it's one of relatively few: this place is much more sparsely populated than Viridian Forest. There's a clump of knotty grass that gets up and reveals itself to be a heath mankey, long dun fur blending in among the vegetation; there are a pair of spearow that flee at the first jet of Brauron's fire; there is a fat purple ekans that they disturb in the middle of swallowing a crow and which shrinks down among the bushes, trying to avoid being seen.

Artemis' headache gets worse.

She can't shift that weird burning smell. It's not Brauron, and when asked Cass says she can't smell anything at all. She might just be imagining it, only it's so damn vivid, and she's never hallucinated a scent before – sights, yes, sounds, most definitely, but not scents.

It feels familiar, but she can't place it. Artemis kneads her aching temples, takes long drinks from her water bottle that don't help in the slightest, and bites down hard on her irritation. Keep it together, Artie. You're in the process of acquiring a friend. No need to screw that up by complaining.

The sun hangs above them and glares like a snake hypnotising a rabbit. They stop and reapply sunscreen, and then, when they see a fork in the trail and a sign explaining it, agree without speaking to take the right-hand path down to the rest stop.

It's a nice enough spot: a place where the hillside might have slipped millennia ago, creating a sort of plateau below the peak. Above them, bare chalk and granite rise up to the hilltop. Below, the grass goes up and down in waves, all the way down to Viridian and the farmland above it. In between, there are picnic tables and benches, laid out in the meagre shade of the hill itself.

Artemis sits with a sigh and holds her head tightly in one hand. It's the kind of headache that feels like mechanical trauma with a blunt object. Like someone is responsible for it.

Cass perches on the edge of the table, swinging her legs.

"Okay, so we haven't found anything so far," she says, petting Ringo absently. "But I'm sure we will soon. Ditto don't mind the sun, right? They don't even have skin, so it's not like they can get sunburn."

"Mm," says Artemis. She drinks more water, but it's not a dehydration thing. The headache remains, intensifies even, as if a vice is being tightened twist by vicious twist around her skull. Her nostrils are clogged with the smell of burnt things.

"And like lots of animals stay in around midday to avoid the sun, so it stands to reason they might be … hey, are you okay?"

Artemis looks up. Cass is watching her, concerned.

"Fine," she mutters. "Just a headache."

"Have you had some water?" asks Cass, and Artemis would interrupt with a curt _yes_ but she can't, she just can't, so she waits and then nods and says politely:

"Yeah. It's not that."

"Oh." Cass clicks her tongue. "Sorry, I had some paracetamol but I left my first aid stuff at the Centre."

Artemis forces a shrug.

"Me too," she says. "I …"

Somebody gives the vice another twist, and Artemis gasps, half certain now that her skull is actually about to burst, that the pressure on her temples is a real physical thing, and then she hears Brauron hiss in alarm and Cass cry out that she's bleeding and then impossibly the pain gets even worse and then―

Somewhere cold and dark, somewhere deep within herself, Artemis opens her eyes to see a burning red light.

 _Breach_ , it says. _There has been a breach_.

And Artemis opens her eyes again and sees the sky and hills and everything else, exactly as before. She's still sitting on the bench. Her face is wet and Brauron has climbed up around her neck, peering at her in concern.

"Are you okay?" Cass asks. "You're – that's quite a lot of blood …"

Artemis stands up. It feels like there's a half-second delay between making the movement and realising she wants to. She ought to be terrified, and in a minute she thinks she will be, but right now there is too much distance between her and the world.

"Who is that?" she asks, and Cass looks and they both see him. The blurred man. Walking backwards away from them across the grass, jittering and flickering out of focus like a bad TV picture, face blotted out with interference. He looks like a jpeg artefact brought to life, some freak accident of digital nature. He skitters backwards like an old VHS tape being rewound and leaves no impression on the turf as he moves.

He makes a sound like a giant knife being sharpened, and he smells like burning.

Ringo squawks and bolts for the long grass. Artemis feels Brauron's blunt claws digging into her chest, hears her hissing in her panic.

"Who," says Artemis again, and then the blurred man stutters and grinds his way to the edge of the picnic area and fades slowly into nothing.

There is a long moment of awful, unearthly silence, and then the birds begin to sing and the crickets to call, and Artemis sits back down heavily, hands shaking and heart beating so hard she feels certain it must be about to catapult Brauron right off her chest.

"Breach," she whispers, as the panic finally arrives. "Oh my god, breach."

"Artemis? Artemis, are you okay?" Cass grips her arm, trying to get Artemis to look at her, but she's far too solid to be moved. "What the hell was that?"

"I," says Artemis, and chokes on her fear. "I – oh god. Damn it. Gimme a minute."

She sits there and shivers and holds Brauron in her trembling hands, and then after a little time has passed the worst of it is over.

It's not as bad as before. The blurred man is strange and terrifying, but he doesn't compare to the spire. He's alien, but recognisable: human shape, digital decay. The spire is not like that. The spire is completely and utterly unlike anything else in the world.

"Are you okay?" Cass asks again, and Artemis nods. Her face feels wet; she touches it and takes her fingers away bloody.

"What …?"

"It's your eyes." Cass looks uncomfortable. Artemis supposes she would too, if she saw someone bleeding from the eyes. "They were … I think it's stopped?"

Artemis nods.

"My headache's gone," she says, unable to find any other words.

There's a period of quiet. Ringo flutters back, looking faintly embarrassed. Brauron's breathing slows, and she coils herself around her partner's forearm, warm and comforting.

"I think maybe we should go back to the Centre," says Cass.

"Yeah," says Artemis. "Okay."

* * *

Emilia thinks about doing some crimes.

It's not entirely new territory for her. She was young once, and she was also depressed and anxious in a way that made her angry and impulsive. Some things got broken, a couple of people got hurt, a few breath tests were failed. But this was all a long time ago, and anyway that was petty crime, the yelling risk-taking sort you commit in the fury of desperate near-suicidal youth, whereas the crime she's considering now is much more white-collar and for considerably higher stakes.

She sits in the bar of her hotel, drinking lemonade and mulling over the options. Lorelei has told her that she's sent Giovanni and company to the spot up in the hills, to watch for the doppelgänger's manifestation and do whatever it is that needs to be done; that means he'll be gone for a few hours at least. By now, he ought to be on his way out of the city. Leaving his Gym, and his office, unattended.

She can't even believe she's thinking this, but if she did want to dig around in his files, this would be the best time to do it.

On the table by her hand, Nadia straightens up from her dish of water and gives her a look.

"What?" asks Emilia.

 _FURRET MAN_ , she replies.

"Yeah, furret man." Emilia takes another sip of her lemonade and wishes it was something stronger. "Are you encouraging me? Because that's … very unprofessional."

Nadia radiates nonchalance. If she was human, she'd have stuck her hands in her pockets and started sidling away, whistling loudly.

Emilia sighs.

"Okay, drink up," she says. "We don't have much time."

Half an hour later, she walks into the Viridian Gym: a cool, solid building, faced unattractively with concrete panels but on the inside sleek and modern, all pale wood and glass screens. She may not like the man, but Emilia can't deny that Giovanni has good taste. She's seen pictures of the Gym back in Isabella's day, and while she might have been a better Gym Leader she had much worse taste in interior design.

Emilia approaches the front desk and presents the receptionist with a calculated smile.

"Hello," she says. "Is Mr Dioli in?"

"No," replies the receptionist. "He isn't. Can I take a message? He should be back later today."

"I'd rather not. League business." She shows her card and waits for the receptionist to finish staring. "I have documents from the Plateau that require his attention," she says, taking a sealed brown envelope from under her arm. "Do you think I could take them through to his office?"

The receptionist looks at her, and then at the envelope. It's quite thick. The edges are crisp and new. It could contain anything.

What it _actually_ contains is a fifth of a stack of blank printer paper that Emilia bought on the way here, along with the envelope itself. Later today, Giovanni will open it and be confused, and word will get back to the Plateau, and Emilia will be able to deny everything because she was just a messenger and no, the packet was just in her pigeonhole, not sure who from, but you know what the League's like, the left hand knoweth not what the right hand doeth, and Emilia will spend a couple of favours and the whole thing will disappear. And maybe Giovanni will suspect, and maybe he has the power to do something with that suspicion, but guess what, so does Emilia, and Emilia is willing to bet she has more allies in the League than he does.

That's then. Right now, Emilia stands her ground and does her best to hold the envelope in a tantalising sort of way.

"I should probably just hold that here for him," says the receptionist. "I can pass it on …"

Emilia shakes her head.

"I'm afraid not," she says. "I have my orders. From the Plateau," she adds, with a subtle emphasis that flies straight into the back of the receptionist's subconscious and sticks there. "Mr Dioli's eyes only."

The receptionist hesitates.

"Well …"

Emilia smiles.

"Well?"

"If it's really important …"

"Oh," says Emilia. "Very."

It's not a lie. If yesterday's hunch is even half right, then it really is important she get into that office. If not – well, probably best not to think about that.

"Okay, then," says the receptionist, reluctance battling with excitement for control of her voice. "It's at the end, on the second floor. Can't miss it."

"Wonderful," replies Emilia. "Thank you so much."

She sweeps off with her best aura of Leaguely self-importance, and maintains it all the way down the corridor to the elevator. There are still people watching her here, the clerks and bureaucrats who run the parts of the Gym the trainers never see. And the best disguise, Emilia knows, is to simply walk straight past them as if she has every right to be there.

Alone in the dim light of the elevator, Emilia glances sideways at Nadia. Nadia glances back.

 _CRIMES_ , she says.

"Yeah," agrees Emilia, feeling eighteen again, angry and nervous. "Crimes."

 _Ding_ , and the doors open. Emilia steps out, face once again composed and commanding, and walks past a group of office workers without giving or receiving a second glance.

She does pause when she gets to the door, but only for a second. She reads the nameplate, knocks once, and lets herself in.

Emilia breathes out.

All right.

Giovanni's office is like the rest of the Gym, light and airy. The desk is pale wood and the bookshelves are glass. A few stray motes of dust eddy lazily in the sunlight streaming through the blinds.

On his desktop computer, a light blinks on and off, and Emilia lifts Nadia off her shoulder.

"Right," she says, in a low voice. "Something different here. Tight focus, just the keyboard. All right?"

 _YES_.

Emilia puts the envelope down on the desk and leans over the computer, wiggling the mouse to wake it up. As she suspected, she is prompted to enter a password.

"Ready?"

The glow rises from Nadia's feathers, Emilia closes her eyes, and as they slip back with Nadia into history the keyboard reappears in shaky silver lines, hanging there in the dark. The keys are stained with purple light, to varying degrees: E and the spacebar are a vivid burgundy, while Z and X are just a faint lilac.

"Narrow it down," mutters Emilia. "He would have logged in this morning. Find his fingers for me."

Nadia's feathers rustle in a wind that Emilia cannot feel. There is a pause, the purple stains on the keyboard waver and wobble, and then quite suddenly almost all of them disappear. Emilia opens one eye, sees the light overlaid on the keys, and memorises the letters.

"2,4, O, I, D, G, K," she recites. "And – two Ns? Yes, two Ns. Thanks."

The lights disappear and the unearthly nimbus surrounding Nadia fades to nothing. Emilia transfers her back to her shoulder, muttering to herself.

"2, 4 … dig … going … king …" She snaps her fingers. "Nidoking24," she says, typing it in. The computer informs her that this is incorrect, and invites her to try again. "Nidoking42?" she asks – and the lock screen gives way to Giovanni's desktop. " _Yes_."

 _FURRET MAN_ , says Nadia, with a distinct tone of satisfaction.

"Absolutely. Thank god he wasn't paying attention when IT sent out the safe computing memo." Emilia clicks through files, speed-reading with the gaze she uses to process paperwork. "Let's see … no, I didn't think so. I'll try his email. More likely to find something here …"

Her eyes flick back and forth, cursor carefully skipping unopened emails, leaving everything just as she found it. Gym Leader bulletins. League announcements. Casino business. (Sending work emails from his League account? Tsk, tsk, Mr Dioli.) And on and on, and then, in the middle of it all …

Regarding Recent Events. Now there's a subject line to furrow the brow. Emilia clicks, and reads:

 _Dioli,_

 _If you want my advice, we'll continue. I really think we're getting close to figuring out a reliable trigger here – and honestly, once we've done that, that's the hardest part in the bag. It's going to be a matter of months after that, tops, and then we'll have it. You and I both know that this is more important than petty League politics. This is the future of Kanto we're talking about; we let this go because the bloody ice queen's grown a conscience, and it's not just us that pays the price, it's our children, and their children, and our children's children's children, all the way down the line. Anyway, come talk to me. I have some ideas about where to go from here._

― _AG_

The reply is much shorter and blunter:

 _The decision isn't ours to make. I won't hear any more about it. Consider yourself warned._

― _GD_

For a moment, Emilia doesn't react. Then, very quickly, she takes her phone from her bag and photographs the screen. It's not a great image, but it's legible.

"Okay," she says. "Okay."

She closes the email program, locks the computer, straightens up and leaves. She walks out the same way she walked in, with the confidence of someone who is exactly where she is supposed to be, and she gives the receptionist a friendly nod, and she walks out into the sunlight and finally starts to breathe again.

 _CRIMES_ , says Nadia.

"You said it," replies Emilia, running her fingers through her hair. "Now let's get the hell out of here."

Nadia doesn't have anything to say to that. She grips Emilia's shoulder tightly in her claws, and the two of them hurry back to the hotel, to wait for the news about Oak and to put together the pieces that are even now starting to form a horrible kind of shape.

* * *

At the Centre, a consummately professional doctor examines Artemis' eyes and tells her that it sounds like she might have been being haunted.

"Oneirophage," he explains to her. "It's difficult to categorise ghost-types, they don't play by the same rules as animals, but some forms of haunter and gengar don't feed on fear or energy. You've heard of drowzee and hypno?" (Artemis has.) "Some ghosts are like that, too. Dream eaters. It sounds like one got in your head and manifested a nightmare to eat."

"But I saw it too," protests Cass.

The doctor shrugs.

"Psychic feedback," he says. "Had you ever seen this thing before? In a dream or anything?"

Artemis nods. She isn't willing to expose the truth.

"Then it's almost certainly possession. If the ghost is strong enough, bystanders do sometimes experience the illusion too."

The doctor asks if it's okay if he reports the incident to the Viridian Gym. Dangerous pokémon this close to town need to be monitored, and if necessary temporarily captured and relocated somewhere they are less likely to come into contact with humans. Artemis thinks of Giovanni in the firelight, and suppresses a shudder, and says okay.

Up in the room, she washes her face and reapplies her make-up and stares into the mirror, gripping the sink hard with both hands. She sees through her face to the boy she is running from; she sees midnight at three pm; she sees an eye-watering red light among the stars.

BRAD COUNT 1 = POSITIVE, 5 = ++ATTRACTION.

Attraction to what? Well, Artie. Why don't you think about it for a moment.

She can't run, can she? It's going to follow her. It's scored into her irradiated flesh, into this improvised hacked-together excuse for a body. It's in her, and wherever she goes, breach is going to follow.

A movement in the mirror: Brauron has climbed up onto her shoulder to stare with evident fascination at her own reflection, moving her head and watching the other salandit move hers. Artemis smiles without feeling it and prods her affectionately.

"It's you," she says. "See? I'm there too."

Brauron looks at the mirror-Artemis, and then back at the real thing. She reaches out, feels the cold glass beneath her toes, and retreats again, puzzled.

"Okay," says Artemis. "Never mind."

She goes back out into the room, where Cass is finishing up a phone call.

"… okay," she says. "Buh-bye." She lowers her phone. "'S my aunt," she explains. "She likes to check up on me, make sure I'm all right." Pause. Frank look. "You okay?"

Artemis shrugs.

"Not really," she admits. "Do you want to get a drink?"

Cass' face cracks into a grin.

"Glad you asked," she replies. "'Cause I really kinda do."


	7. 07: We Monstrous Few

**07: WE MONSTROUS FEW**

Daytime drinking is probably not a good thing, but Artemis has so far been having what is technically known as a fuck of a bad day, and honestly under the circumstances she feels the rules can be relaxed. She and Cass have a late and slightly liquid lunch in a bar recommended by a somewhat surprised Pokémon Centre receptionist, and carefully blunt the edges of their recent experience with quantities of inexpensive alcohol.

"To never getting possessed ever a-fucking-gain," says Cass, raising her glass, and Artemis smiles and clinks hers against it.

"Yep," she says. "Cheers."

They did get ID'd, buying the drinks, but for the first time in a while it was okay. Artemis is used to nights out in Pewter with Chelle and her friends, where her only ID was a provisional driver's licence bearing an old face and older name; now, of course, she has a trainer card, and that's got her date of birth on it. So she showed it, proved she was over eighteen, and that was that. Sure, the barman definitely still clocked her, but at least she didn't have it rubbed in.

Cass sets down her glass with a sigh.

"Y'know," she says, "I'm having second thoughts about going to catch a ditto now."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm thinking maybe I never go up on the moors again. Like there are ditto all over the southeast, aren't there? Harringham Riding especially, you know, round Fuchsia. So … maybe I'll just wait." She covers her glass as Ringo hops off her shoulder to investigate it. "Ringo, no. You're enough trouble already without getting drunk. So yeah. I figure I can just get a ditto later."

"Probably sensible," says Artemis. "You can like focus on training Ringo for a bit."

"Hm? Oh. Yeah, I guess I probably should. You and Brauron beat us pretty easily." Cass sips her rum and coke. "Which I guess leaves us with the question, what now?"

Artemis has been thinking about this. Now that she has a certain amount of gin and tonic inside her, some of the awful tension that wound itself up in her chest back at the Centre has come unstuck again, and it's a little easier to try and put together some kind of response to what she's learned. It's not exactly the best way to self-medicate, but to hell with it, sometimes you just need a damn drink.

So: her thoughts. She's soaked up some breach radiation, and that's why Giovanni scanned her – to see whether or not she was over that five-rad threshold, the point at which future breach stuff would begin to be drawn towards her. That means Giovanni is doing, well, _something_ to do with breach, at best tracking it and at worst actually invoking it, and also that she's now kinda screwed. Because if witnessing a breach makes you more likely to be sucked into another one, then that second breach is going to make it even more likely, and so it'll happen again, and then that will make it even _more_ likely, and so on, and so on.

Maybe this isn't how it works; maybe breach radiation fades over time, or maybe Artemis has just put the pieces together wrong here. Either way, she needs answers. And while Giovanni and the League may well have them, they won't give them up just because she asks.

Which means (and breathe in here, Artie, because this is the scary part) she's going to have to find them herself. There are two places she could try: the Viridian Gym itself, where Giovanni works, or Cinnabar Island, which he mentioned in his phone call. Breaking into a Gym is possibly the most terrifyingly bad idea she's ever had in her life, and that leaves her with just one other option: go to Cinnabar, and try to figure out what happened there.

She tells herself she's playing it cautious, taking the safer approach. She is not just putting off the moment where she has to actually do something. She _isn't_.

"Well," she says, toying with her glass, "I was kinda thinking maybe we just move on. I know we haven't really seen any of the sights or anything, haven't done much training, but …"

"But you kinda just want to get out of town," finishes Cass. "Yeah. Yeah, I get that." She nods. "Honestly, I was sorta hoping you'd say that. Okay, we haven't had the full Viridian experience, but, uh, at this point I'd rather not be here any more. That thing was …" She breaks off, shudders. "Well. You know."

Oh, Artemis knows. Better than Cass does, even. He's there inside her, with the spire: the blurred man, moving around beneath the skin of reality like a maggot in dead flesh. He belongs to a special kind of wrongness that Artemis doesn't know any word for. Something grotesquely out of step with the actuality of the universe.

"Yeah," she says, realising that she will have nightmares again tonight. "I know."

* * *

By the time they make it back to the Centre, it's a little late in the day to set off for Pallet. It's not a long trip – much quicker than the week-and-a-bit it took to get through Viridian Forest – but still, it would be best to start out in the morning. Artemis does her laundry in a dim room at the back of the Centre made hot by the ceaseless motion of dryers, and practices some moves with Brauron in one of the courts behind the main building. There are other trainers there, but she is the oldest and the biggest and nobody challenges her.

It's okay. Cass comes out after a while and they have a practice match themselves. No real hits, just sharpening up their pokémon's grasp of their commands. Cass is starting to teach Ringo cryptic orders like Artemis uses with Brauron, and the two pokémon dance around each other on the patchy grass, darting backwards or to the side as their trainers direct, flicking dilute moves at one another. Artemis experiments with sweet scent, and is gratified to find that Brauron can manage it easily. Cass makes breakthroughs too: once, after an ember splashes across his chest, Ringo glows with an eerie light and the flames contract back into a ball that fires itself straight back at Brauron, much to her surprise. Both Artemis and Cass are very impressed, but neither can get him to repeat the trick, and end up suspecting that Ringo doesn't know how he did it himself. Mirror move will have to be something of a long-term goal.

They eat late, fiddle with the internet (they have secured the Centre's all-important wifi password), and go to bed early, in anticipation of tomorrow's hike. Artemis' predictions about nightmares turn out to be right on the money, but hey, at least she doesn't hallucinate, and anyway it's okay: from the sounds Cass is making, she's having a few bad dreams about the blurred man herself. In the morning, they very casually ask each other how they slept, and then agree that they both had an excellent night.

And then, finally, it's time to go. Breakfast, tea (coffee for Cass, true Kantan that she is), and out the Centre to the bus stop, to make their slow way to the edge of town.

"Nice day," says Cass, looking out at the sunlight turning the windowpanes to sheets of fire.

"Yep," agrees Artemis. "Gonna be hot."

Neither of them mention the blurred man. Artemis would like to pretend as far as she can that he didn't happen, and while she can't speak for Cass she suspects she feels the same way.

Beyond the concrete shells of the city centre, Viridian is less monumental and intimidating. The bus takes them through the Old Town, where from the windows they see some really beautiful old buildings: temples, townhouses, something that might once have been an inn. Artemis is impressed, but suspicious, in the way that someone like her is when confronted with a sight like that. Beautiful old buildings mean money and power, and since she doesn't have much of either of those things she is instinctively distrustful of both.

Artemis is reminded of Chelle, of her enthusiastic but undirected appetite for class struggle, and realises she misses her. This is the longest she's gone in a while without hearing her voice. Sure, she sent her some messages back at the Pokémon Centre, but she really should call her sometime. Let her know she's doing okay. It won't be completely honest – Artemis' definition of 'okay' does not include ruptures in the fabric of reality and secretive League agencies – but she should say it anyway.

She should call her parents too, says the voice of filial duty deep inside her, and Artemis feels her stomach turn. That's a much harder ask. All this was meant as an escape, after all, and something in her is violently against the idea of involving her parents in it for even one minute more.

Still. She knows she'll do it anyway. Maybe this can't last; maybe there will come a point where either it will break or she will. But for now at least, she's still a good son.

The thought bites at her in ways she can't articulate. She closes her eyes, feels the comforting warmth of Brauron in her hands, and waits for the bus to leave Viridian behind.

After the Old Town, it's not much further before their stop. Technically, it's possible to walk from Viridian to Pallet without ever leaving civilisation; Viridian's commuter satellites are pretty much jammed up against Pallet's northern suburbs. But Kanto's a big place, and the League, under one name or another, has scrupulously maintained its wilderness for nearly a millennium. There are still pockets of wilderness, and through them run the trainers' trails south to Pallet.

Artemis and Cass are taking one of the easier routes, intended for rookies who started in Pallet and have chosen to go to Viridian first rather than south to Cinnabar, and their bus drops them off on the wrong side of a big sign welcoming trainers to Viridian with directions to the Pokémon Centre. They stare up at it for a moment and feel out of place.

"Maybe we'll run into someone coming the other way," says Cass. "Maybe two people. We were pretty good yesterday evening, right? We could totally pull off a double battle."

"Sure," replies Artemis. "I guess so."

It's not as emphatic as she intended, and her hesitance kills the conversation. Guilty and silent, she turns south with Cass and begins to walk.

Pallet is a low-lying town: Route 1 and the trails that wind up and down its length zigzag down a long series of slopes and cliffs, broken up by occasional patches of woodland. Mostly it's open ground, grass and scrubland flattened out by wind and baked by the burgeoning summer.

It's rougher going than Viridian Forest: the earth is stony and loose, and prone to sudden changes in inclination. But it's not too bad, and anyway at least it's not like the hill west of Pewter, or the moorlands near Viridian. Here's a kind of landscape that doesn't hold any memories at all. All it has is openness, and that in quantities that make Artemis slightly uneasy. She guesses it was open up on the moors too, but with the hills you didn't notice it. This is just … uncompromising. Empty space, stretching out south to the horizon. It's strange, for someone who has never really stepped outside a city before. Anything could be out here, with this much space to hide in.

But, well, she's going to have to live with it, and anyway it comes with new pokémon: collared pidgey that wheel across the sky, cooing and flapping hurriedly away when Ringo launches himself at them with his signature torrent of twittered abuse; slim field rattata, elegant flashes of purple that appear momentarily in between the stems of the long grass; even, around midday, a furret that sticks its fluffy head out from a clump of something spiky. Cass points and it flinches and disappears.

"Oops," she says, looking stricken. "I didn't mean to … oh, well. I guess it probably wasn't interested in a partner anyway."

"It woulda jumped out if it was," agrees Artemis.

They stop for lunch in the shade of a thick, tenacious oak that looks very out of place on the windy hillside but whose knuckled roots clutch the earth too stubbornly to be blown away. There are a few pale flowers around its base, one of which Brauron reaches for and which Artemis picks for her to burn. She wishes she knew what they were called, but nature has only ever been the backdrop to TV shows for her.

"She likes flowers?" asks Cass.

"Some of them," replies Artemis. "I don't know why those ones particularly."

Later, in the afternoon, a very persistent rattata turns up: Brauron drives it back easily enough, with her range and burgeoning strength, but it won't run, keeps darting back and forth between her fireballs, looking up at Artemis herself. It's the weirdest damn thing. She's heard of this, of certain pokémon that aren't just trying to test their strength and _maybe_ consent to partnership but are determined from the get-go to find someone to attach themselves to. It's kind of flattering, but more than that, it's intimidating. Artemis isn't ready for a second pokémon, and the rattata's persistence makes her nervous. Eventually, it seems to pick up on this, and with one last hopeful glance at her scampers away into the grass.

"You got a fan," observe Cass. "He's gonna go home and tell all his friends about the cool trainer he met."

Artemis thinks about correcting her and saying _she_ , because the rattata had light-coloured fur and short whiskers, but decides that would be kinda hypocritical, and anyway what do rats know or care about gender, right? And on top of that, it's just the wrong thing to say. Be nice, Artie. Cass is being nice so you be nice back.

"Hah," she says, trying to laugh, partially succeeding. "Yeah, I guess so."

She picks up Brauron and they get moving again. As they walk, a few clouds scud across the sky, their shadows shifting huge and eerie on the grass. Artemis thinks she's imagining things until Cass points it out.

"Neat," she says. "Cloud shadows."

"Oh," says Artemis, not wanting to say she didn't know that was a thing. It seems painfully obvious now that she's had it pointed out to her. That's literally why the light's dimmer on overcast days, after all.

She tries to keep the conversation going, and while she doesn't do a very good job of it Cass is more than capable of finishing the job. As they make their way down the steep banks of the hills, past rills and windswept bushes, Artemis listens to a story about another walk Cass once took, up in the mountainous grounds of Silverleaf, where she saw some really freaky shadows. She looked across to the opposite hill and saw a gigantic human shape there, looming against the cloudy sunlight. When she got back (which happened pretty quick, as you'd expect of someone who just saw a ghostly colossus on the far hillside) someone told her that that was her own shadow projected by a kind of optical illusion.

"I think it's called a bracken spectre," says Cass. "Still, it's pretty freaky. I thought I was being haunt― oh. Right. Um, maybe not the best anecdote for today."

Maybe not. But Artemis smiles and almost nudges her in a friendly kind of way, before the desire to make her body as unapparent as possible reasserts itself and she decides against it.

"It's okay," she says. "It's a pretty cool story."

Cass furrows her brow.

"What, really?"

"Really." Looking at her, Artemis suddenly has the uncomfortable feeling that one of the reasons Cass talks so much is that nobody actually listens. "Really," she says again, more emphatically, and Cass looks – well. Gratified, if Artemis had to pick a word. Which bothers her, because she _shouldn't_ , not over something as little as that.

She supposes she understands. She herself is grateful for all kinds of things that she should take for granted and yet never can.

"Well, then," says Cass, visibly perking up. "I think I got one or two more weird stories where that came from."

"I'd like to hear them," Artemis tells her, and as Cass starts telling her about how she once met her own doppelgänger in Saffron she realises to her surprise that she's looking forward to having her company on this trip. Somehow this is more startling to her than any number of breach events. Maybe it's the paranoia talking, but for some reason, getting sucked into some terrifying government conspiracy seems so much more likely than _making a friend_.

* * *

In the dimly-lit bar of the East Hill Hotel, Emilia stares at a glass of lemonade and comes unwillingly to conclusions.

One. There was some form of League project going on – possibly, even probably, breach research – and Giovanni headed it.

Two. Lorelei ordered it closed, and it's still running.

Three. Emilia really, really wants a drink.

But she doesn't drink, hasn't since she was twenty and experienced the revelation that turned her life around and made her the woman she is today, so she stares ferociously at her lemonade and forces herself to think.

Giovanni received an unorthodox email from a colleague on the project he was overseeing. He responded oh-so-correctly, and didn't delete the email, so that if anyone came asking he could provide proof that he was in full compliance with his orders from the Elite Four. There's always the possibility that he really _did_ disagree with AG, whoever they are, but Emilia would be willing to stake her life that he didn't.

Which means, and goddamn it why is this even happening, that the only thing worse than the League running dangerous projects has happened: one of those dangerous projects has gone rogue.

This is the explanation she was reaching for earlier. No wonder Nadia was confused by Giovanni's statement that the League doesn't study breach: it's both true and untrue at once. Giovanni would have believed what he was saying at the same time as disbelieving it. And no natu understands the human mind well enough to penetrate that kind of prevarication.

Emilia could kick herself for uncovering this. Life was so much better when she thought this was just the usual eight out of ten stuff. But now? Now she's going to have to talk to Lorelei. Now she's going to have to actually _do_ something, because while she's willing to give the League the benefit of the doubt now and then, Emilia is _not_ turning a blind eye to this. The zapdos thing? Understandable. Awful, ridiculous, utterly unforgivable, but understandable. This? No. This she won't countenance.

Some time after she got back from the Gym, she got a call from Lorelei. Giovanni and his agents were in place over the ridge and saw the whole thing: Oak manifesting, all broken and jittery, and fading away into the past as he made his way back to last night. At exactly the same time, the Oak currently in containment disappeared, along with all his poké balls. It seems he only exists in one twenty-four-hour period. Before and after, he is absent.

This was all right. It was weird, but it was all right. What came next was not.

"We've got a report of two witnesses," Lorelei went on to say. "Two trainers who were hiking up there at the time. They went straight back to town, obviously – Giovanni had them tailed – and then reported it to the Pokémon Centre staff as a haunting. Giovanni will be sending a couple trainers out to relocate a nonexistent ghost-type tonight. So it looks like they did your job for you there." Pause. "There's more," she'd added. "One of the trainers is a familiar face. It's the girl from Pewter. Ap― I don't know how you pronounce that. Is it Greek? Apanchuhmeen?"

"Apanchomene," Emilia had replied, voice operating automatically while her mind reeled. "Artemis Apanchomene."

It's not a coincidence. She doesn't know how or why, but she damn well knows that it isn't. If it had been someone else – even if it had been the same someone else twice – well, Emilia likes to think she would still have reacted the way she did, would still have decided that something has to be done.

But it's not someone else. It's Artemis. And so Emilia doesn't even get the option of not acting.

Here is the thing about Emilia: she is still, seventeen years on, in awe of young trans women. She had a relatively easy time of it herself – no real friends, an estranged family, a face and physique that lent themselves to going stealth – and she still does now. Nobody clocks Emilia, ever. Which suits her fine, even if it does also fill her with a certain ravening guilt at the way she conceals what she is, because after all she will never be anything else and claims in the privacy of her own head to be proud of it, and to let others believe otherwise for the sake of a quiet life feels something like class treachery. But she doesn't complain, because it is easy for her and for girls like Artemis it is so very, very far from that, and she watches them and is staggered by their beat-up, unbroken resilience.

She'd like to believe that she would have been capable of that. And perhaps she would have been, but she will never know, and anyway what is more important than her conscience is that there are people in high places on the side of those in low ones. So: whether it's guilt that motivates her or real compassion, Emilia won't be letting this go. She has a debt, the obligation of the powerful to defend the weak, and that means that sooner or later she's going to have to stop staring at this lemonade, get her phone and actually talk to Lorelei.

Emilia sighs. It's time to go. She has nothing left to do in Viridian. Oak is more or less dealt with, the League strategy for managing the news has been created and put into action, and there is nothing else here in town that requires her attention. And this isn't a call she wants to rush into, anyway. It's going to take planning and forethought. Lorelei won't want to talk about Giovanni, and Emilia will have to work to get her to even admit he ever ran a project at all.

And at home, there are probably more petals on the floor.

Emilia stands up and shoulders her bag, abandoning her lemonade to the flies.

"Come on, Nadia," she says. "Time to go. Effie's waiting."

* * *

Effie is not, in fact, waiting. Effie is not doing anything at all.

Emilia comes home to find her remaining petals on the floor around her pot, leaving her a dark stub of a creature, naked and small. She stares, and she waters her, and then she goes to unpack her bag and put her things away.

Nadia hops in through the doorway, projecting questioning thoughts.

 _?_

"I'm," begins Emilia, before deciding that actually she is _not_ , and slams her hand down on her dresser. "Not now, Nadia."

Nadia weighs her options and decides that retreat is the order of the day. Emilia continues unpacking in silence, and then drags out the can of plant food from under the sink and takes it through to Effie.

She doesn't smell of old meat any more. She has no odour at all that Emilia can detect.

"Here you go," says Emilia, pouring the can out into the pot. "You'll need this, sweetie. You've … got some growing to … some growing to … to …"

She puts down the can. She needs both hands for her face.

Nadia returns, claws scritching on the wooden floor. She tugs at Emilia's sleeve and pushes soothing sentiments towards her mind.

Emilia swears, voice quiet and choked. This isn't _her_. None of this is her at all. She is Emilia Santangelo, thirty-seven, defined in every way by her perfect competence. But there was a time when she was not, when she was a drunk bastard of a kid who drove too fast because she didn't care whether she made it back home alive or not, and a time before that when she was a terminally anxious pokémon trainer, and a time before that when she was a very miserable child hiding in her room and hoping to be unnoticed, and the only thing in the world that connects all of those selves together is currently dying a slow and drawn-out death in front of her.

She takes a deep breath. It stutters a little, but all of it does get into her lungs. She thinks of Effie filling her room at university with coloured petals, trying to cheer her up. Of teaching her that Emilia had a new name. Of her early work in the civil service, Effie standing around proudly beside her, passing her papers with the solemnity of one who believes with all her heart that her task is capital-letter Important.

Emilia looks at Effie now, and breathes out again. Five Gym victories. Three careers. One true friend in all that time. One weird-looking seed she planted in that patch of dirt behind the bus depot where she went a lot, because it wasn't home and only a child could fit through the hole in the fence to get in so she knew nobody would bother her.

Another breath. Nadia looks at her questioningly.

"I'm okay." Her voice sounds more normal now. "I'm okay," she repeats, as if by saying it enough times she can make it true. "I'm okay." She catches herself then and forces herself to stop talking, to gather herself back together before speaking again. "Nadia, I'm going to take tomorrow off," she says. "Can you take the names and email addresses of everyone I'm scheduled to meet with? I'll have to tell them I'm ill."

Nadia stares at her for a moment with more than usual intensity. Attuned to her mind as she is, Emilia can sense her surprise. It's not unfounded: Emilia hasn't missed a day of work in a long, long time. Apart from one two-week holiday six years ago, in fact, she has not taken any time off at all since she joined up with the League. It is not quite legal, but then, Emilia does a lot of things that are not quite legal, and nobody has stopped her yet.

Then Nadia chirrups and moves away in long, fluttering hops, to find Emilia's laptop and tap out the relevant information for her. Once she has left the room, Emilia lets herself sag again, slouching against the wall. Carefully, with both hands, she lifts Effie's heavy ceramic pot from its dish and holds it up in front of her.

"Effie," she begins, and then immediately runs out of words. She looks into the place where Effie's eyes used to be for few seconds, searching for more, but none are forthcoming. "Effie," she repeats instead, touching her forehead to the bark. "Effie."

* * *

Half an hour later, Emilia is back on her feet, planning. Okay. Effie is dying. That hurts, and it's also not something she can fix. But some rogue League element is summoning dangerous entities into this plane of existence, and _that_ hurts many more people than just Emilia, and it's something that she might actually be able to do something about.

The thing is, she can't just call up Lorelei and ask her what Giovanni was doing. She's the closest thing Emilia has to a friend, after all this time working together, but she's a professional, as Emilia herself is, and she is also extremely proud. The straightforward approach just won't fly, especially without any concrete evidence of wrongdoing.

So. Other options. Emilia paces back and forth, towards Effie and away again, and kneads her hands like dough as she tries to force a revelation.

"If I had the name of the project, I could …"

"What about telling her that he knew about breach …?"

"Assuming she knew about the shutdown …"

No. Nothing. Emilia imagines the conversation, again and again, works out likely responses. Every time, she comes to the same conclusion: Lorelei will either insist that there was never any breach project, or that it has been cancelled and that there is no evidence to suggest anything else. Because – and Lorelei would hate to hear this but it is in fact the truth – it's easier if that's what happened. Nobody wants the difficulty of dealing with black ops gone bad. And besides, Lorelei does not respect hunches. The reason she and Emilia have worked so well together is that, in her eyes, Emilia is a dealer in hard fact and calculated possibility. If she ever figures out that Emilia is more or less always winging it, operating on intuition and instinctive ideas about what is probable – well, either she'll have to admit that sometimes improvisation works, or she'll just be offended. Given that this is Lorelei she's talking about, Emilia is inclined to believe the latter.

She sighs and thinks again. Is this the wrong tactic? Should she be approaching someone else – Bruno, maybe, or Lance? But they'd only go to Lorelei, and then when she asked where they got the information they'd tell her that it was from Emilia, and she would be hurt and angry that her former mentor had gone behind her back. And that really wouldn't do anything to help the situation at all.

"What's the problem?" Emilia asks herself, and comes right back with the answer: "Lorelei. Lorelei won't like it. So we force her to take it seriously. How do we do that? Either we argue with her hard enough to ruin our relationship, or we present her with data. First one's not an option, so where do we get data?" This one puzzles her for a while. It isn't the sort of information that she's going to be able to get through the usual web of contacts: anything to do with the League's anomalous resources is strictly controlled information, and Lorelei and her team are careful not to let those involved cultivate relationships with people like Emilia who have a nasty habit of figuring things out. Nobody she knows is likely to have any information on the project itself, whatever it was.

She walks up and down a while longer, trying not to clench her teeth, and then suddenly stops and takes out her phone to look at the picture she took of the email.

"AG," she reads. "And the address – .kt." She lowers her phone with a short, decisive movement. "A. Grahame," she repeats. "A. Grahame …"

They won't be on any of the usual lists of employees, but as much as it likes to obfuscate things, the League does mostly have to abide by Kantan national law, and somewhere there will be some registers full of people whose roles are listed as benign, meaningless things like 'civilian contractors' or 'technical consultants'. There's always a chance A. Grahame is too secret even for that, Emilia supposes. But if they have a League email, they _have_ to be on the system somewhere or other.

Okay, then. That's the angle. There's the in she was looking for. Find A. Grahame, find the organisation they belong to – and find out what Giovanni was supposed to have stopped doing six months ago.

Emilia looks at Effie. Her past wells up inside her like blood from an open wound.

Yes, she thinks. Time to start snooping.

* * *

After a while, Artemis gets used to the wind. Route 1 is wide and open, leaving plenty of space for a good stiff breeze to get up speed, and honestly there comes a point where you have to stop fussing about your clothes and just accept that you're going to come out of this looking somewhat windswept.

She and Cass stop for the night in the League campsite that marks the halfway point between Pallet and Viridian: this really is a short route. It's already occupied by four kids coming north, but they stick to their side of the fire and the two women stick to theirs, and anyway Cass wants to camp here because of the trees planted as a windbreak along the side and Artemis can't find the courage to argue with her. So they set up their tents, and it's true that the wind is much less fierce here, with the spreading tangle of elm and hawthorn along the south side of the site, so Artemis holds her tongue and smiles awkwardly at the kids who look at her with mute suspicion.

She'd heard that children were meant to be better about these things than adults, but maybe ten is old enough to have begun learning the rules of society. She considers herself at that age: how did she feel about this then? It's hard to be sure. Her past slithers by her like sand passing through the neck of an hourglass, impossible to pin down. Most of the time between nine and thirteen is lost to her, a numb void of hospital rooms and IV lines, interspersed with the occasional pain of specific days: mouth ulcers there, nerve damage here, partial paralysis, liver infection. If she had any opinions about trans women then, she doesn't remember them now.

Probably it's for the best. Artemis has always suspected that there's not much from that time worth remembering.

She has Brauron spar with Ringo on the trampled-down turf, practising the clock-face directions format that Giovanni mentioned. (He might be the bad guy here, but she can't deny, he did give good advice.) Cass manages to coax another mirror move out of Ringo, and he flings back a sweet scent in Brauron's face, although it does nothing more than make her sneeze: it seems she's immune to her own clouds of pheromones and toxins. Artemis is more interested to discover that sweet scent doesn't seem to deplete her store of poison at all. That seems like useful information.

The battling display arouses the kids' interest, and Artemis senses them watching from the opposite side of the firepit. So does Cass, and since she's bolder she invites them to join in. This makes Artemis' heart lurch uneasily, but it's okay, it really is, because these kids are rookie trainers and nobody in the world is as excited about pokémon as they are, and for the hour and a half in which the air is thick with the smells and sounds of training, race and gender seem to evaporate, transfiguring Artemis into something fresh and new. One of the kids, Kaidan, has a charmander that learns a lot from fighting an opponent similar to itself; when he looks up at Artemis after the session, she is suddenly aware that all he is seeing in her is a pokémon trainer.

She nearly cries at the thought. As it is, she pretends some of the smoke from Brauron's battle against the charmander has got in her eyes, and wipes them with a finger.

Later, lying back in the grass with Brauron curled up into a warm comma on her chest, looking at the stars and the first few summer fireflies making new constellations between them, Artemis finds herself wondering what she was afraid of. The kids are quiet, some withdrawn to their tents, some still out, looking up on their own side of the fire; Cass is next to her, Ringo snoozing atop the pole of her tent. Everything is calm and cool and beautiful. Even the wind has died down, and the whole of Kanto seems to be coiled loosely around her in a great affectionate spiral, as if even she, cultureless self-created mongrel that she is, is worthy of its love.

In a world like this, rich with possibility and pokémon, how can anyone hate anything? There are no men like Giovanni, no creatures like the spire or the blurred man, no anything that cannot take place around a campfire with a water pump and an excited nidoran. There is no difference between brown trans girls and their white cis counterparts. There is nothing between immigrants and Kantans. There is no language other than the coded communications of battle.

It won't last any longer than this one night, Artemis knows; there will be a nightmare or a ghost person, or someone will look at her or she will see her reflection, and in the uncompromising light of morning she will see the history engraved in her skin without the comfort of fireflies.

But tonight she's done what she wanted to: tonight she really and truly has escaped from Pewter, and even if it can only last an hour or two that's more than good enough for her. Artemis has never expected salvation. All she ever wanted was a little respite.

The blurred man returns in her dreams, flickering like the light playing over a broken CD, and Artemis wakes with ragged breaths back into the normal world. She thinks she sees a ghost person in the corner, but if she does then it's only for a second; she sits up and it is gone.

She lets out a long breath and looks at her hands. Something about them seems wrong, like they have been badly photoshopped into her vision, but it's okay. This is a familiar feeling, and it will pass.

Artemis decides to buy nail polish in Pallet, and wriggles out of her sleeping bag to get on with her day.

A little while after she has finished making herself ready, Cass wakes. Artemis knows she has, because her tent rocks and emits a series of extraordinary noises before disgorging her, hair wild and eyes sleepy, onto the grass.

"Morning," she mumbles, absently holding out her arm for Ringo as he flutters down from the tree in which he slept. "Huh. Man, you do this camping stuff better than me, huh? I get up looking like this and find you looking like _that_."

She waves a hand in Artemis' direction. Artemis blushes furiously, torn between taking it as a compliment and wanting to tell Cass that she looks like this because she puts in effort, because she has to, because if she doesn't then she opens herself up to even more trouble than otherwise.

"Oh," she says. "Well. Um. Thanks. I … wake up early."

"Yeah, I can see." Cass yawns. "Okay, lemme make some coffee and then let's go."

The kids sleep even later than Cass does. They are still asleep when the two of them leave, tents repacked to varying degrees of neatness, pokémon perched about their persons. It's all right. Artemis doesn't really want to have the magic of last night spoiled by a second encounter.

Setting out from the trees around the campsite, they walk back out onto the long downward sweep of the hills, and feel the wind tear at them with renewed force. They fight it long enough to check Artemis' map and agree that they should be able to make Pallet by sundown, and then they get going.

The sun climbs. The grasshoppers chirp relentlessly. The wild pokémon watch from the shelter of the long grass and the straggly trees, and now and then come out to test their mettle. Around mid morning, Artemis smells burning and stiffens, but she can see the smoke above the trees to the east. Not breach, then. Just a fire.

An hour or so later, the attack comes.

* * *

The first one to notice is Brauron. She curls away from Artemis' chest suddenly, eyes wide and alert, shoulder fins flaring like stumpy wings. Her head twists back and forth, looking for something, and Artemis is just about to ask her what when she hears the footsteps through the rushing of the wind.

Irregular. Heavy light, heavy light, heavy light – and a dragging sound, like a sledge being drawn through the dirt.

Artemis' first instinct is to disbelieve herself, but Brauron can obviously sense it too, so instead she looks at Cass. On her shoulder, Ringo is shuffling from foot to foot, uneasy.

"Do you …?"

"Yeah," replies Cass. "What _is_ that?"

"Dunno." Artemis listens some more. Off to the left? But she sees nothing but the grass, waving in the wind. It grows long around this part of the trail, waist-high even to Artemis, and if they ventured off the path Cass would be up to her chest in it. Most animals that are normally found around this area are easily small enough to hide in that – and none that Artemis can think of would make that weird lopsided noise. "It sounds … big?"

"Yeah."

Heavy light, heavy light. Drag. Grass rustling. The wind changes direction; the blades twitch and dance. Artemis' eyes go back and forth. There! No, there! No – wait.

Heavy light, heavy light.

Is it―?

"Getting faster," observes Cass, nervously. "Ringo? Ringo, you might want to get ready …"

On Artemis' chest, Brauron suddenly stops moving, eyes focused on one particular spot in the grass. Artemis follows her gaze and sees, suddenly, a hazy white eye staring back―

Heavy light heavy light heavy light ―

The thing leaps with a screech, clearing the grass at a bound and swinging its arm in a long blurring arc. Artemis shouts and steps back, stumbling over the hem of her skirt, and before her brain has caught up with her eyes she sees fire splashing and the thing crashing into the grass on the other side of the path, twisting, shrieking, a monster of flickering shapes and movements.

Then it turns for a second, slowed by the weight of its misshapen arm, and she sees it: a scyther, or scizor, hard to say. Something has gone badly wrong with its moult; the old green shell hangs half off one side in cracked shards of chitin, the red iron showing through like blood. One arm is mostly free, a huge glinting red pincer pinned to the ground by its own weight; the other is still a scyther's hunting blade, mazed with cracks. Its wings flutter within cracked cases, jaundiced and ragged. Its head is a mess of shattered carapace, bits of its old shell falling away with every movement, one half-blind eye staring through the gap.

A heavy metal leg drives into the earth, pulls the lighter green one forward. The pincer-arm drags in the dirt.

Artemis smells burning.

The scyther swings its head around, glaring. It knows, she thinks. It knows that she brought breach here, it knows that this is all her―

It lurches forward, scizor-arm trailing, scyther-blade flashing, and fortunately its lopsided weight and poor vision means the blow goes wide, biting deep into the dirt between her and Cass. Something comes unstuck in Artemis then and as Brauron leaps forward she leaps back, calls out _ball_ and sees the fire burst against the huge bug's chest. It screeches and swings its blade, and though Brauron starts moving even before Artemis orders her back the scyther is much faster than any rattata or pidgey, and Artemis cries out as the edge of its arm scores a red line into Brauron's tail. The salandit croaks and tries to withdraw, stumbling over her feet, and the scyther lunges again―

―only to be brought up short by the weight of its other arm, anchoring it to the dirt. The blade hits the earth hard enough to send shards of green chitin flying, and the scyther shrieks in fury, spitting breath that stinks of charred things in Artemis' face.

Inside her, the spire and the blurred man rise and fall with the relentless pounding of her heart and the frenetic humming in her nerves. _Think_ Artie, she tells herself, as Brauron slithers back towards her feet. _Think_ , it might be part steel or it might not yet but either way Brauron―

"Cloud!" she cries, and as the scyther yanks its pincer up out of the earth again Brauron spews dense green mist into its path. It stops immediately, exposed patches of red shell growing pitted and dull in an instant, and as it swings its head back and forth, trying to figure out what it is that is hurting it, Artemis reads confusion in its one white eye.

"Beak!"

Cass is over her shock: Ringo slams into the back of the scyther's head, bill first, and the its face makes sudden vicious contact with the ground, body pivoting around its pincer-arm like a pendulum. It makes a thin, strangled sound, thrusts its blade into the earth to try and lever itself up, but the chitin cracks and it slips back again just as Artemis orders another ember directly into the cloud of poison still hovering around it. There is a brilliant green explosion―

―and then the scyther is still and sooty in a circle of scorched earth.

Artemis looks up from it to Cass, white-faced and shaking on the other side. Muted after-images flash on her vision with every blink.

"Are you okay?" she asks Artemis.

Artemis nods.

"Okay," says Cass. "Okay."

Long silence. Artemis kneels over Brauron, feels the heat rolling off her. Her purple eyes meet Artemis' brown, full of a confidence that Artemis finds staggering. She really had no doubts at all, did she? Not a bloody one.

"Let me see your tail," says Artemis, because she doesn't know what else to say, and Brauron holds still while she applies a potion to the cut, the medicine steaming on her hot skin. It's not deep; the scyther's blade might have been sharp, but its aim was not.

"Do you have a poké ball?" asks Cass. "I think we need to get this thing to a doctor."

"Do you?" Artemis wants to pick Brauron up, but if she touched her now she'd burn her hands.

"Yeah. But … uh, I kinda think that's your capture."

Artemis straightens up slowly, looks at the injured scyther. Stretched out on the ground like that, its size is much more evident: if it wasn't hunched over from the weight of its metal shell, it would be at least as tall as Cass, possibly bigger.

"It'll break out of the ball," she says.

"I think it has to be conscious to do that," says Cass. "Isn't that how they relocate rampaging gyarados? Knock 'em out and capture them?"

Artemis sighs. The smell of burning is stronger now, and she wonders if she was imagining things earlier, if this has nothing to do with breach at all. She's not reliable, after all, she knows that.

"Okay," she says, with a reluctance that shames her. If it was up to you, Artie, would you leave the poor thing out here to die? She'd like to say she wouldn't, but her cowardice runs deep and Artemis cannot say for certain. Every cell in her body is yelling at her to run, every atom in every molecule, but she clamps down, makes herself aware of Brauron cooling gently by her foot, and rummages in her backpack for a ball.

Her first capture, and it's an easy one: the scyther couldn't resist if it wanted to. Artemis drops the ball onto it and watches as its misshapen bulk dwindles into white light and disappears. Give it twelve hours and it might start to feel like a victory. Right now, she feels like she might break if anyone touches her.

She picks up the ball, feels the warmth against her palm of its mechanical innards working.

"All right," she says. "We better get moving."

* * *

So what was that, Cass wants to know. It takes a little while for the shock and danger of the attack to fade – not coincidentally, this happens around about the same time as the grass thins out and gets shorter – but when it does, the questions come. Artemis shrugs, making Brauron rise and fall with her shoulders.

"Don't know," she says. "A sick scyther, I guess."

"Well, _yeah_ , but you know." Cass makes an unclear gesture with both hands. "Like what _was_ it?"

"It got stuck trying to shed its shell and evolve?"

"I mean I guess." Cass sighs. "Jeez. I got all the way to Viridian Forest without anything weird happening, then I bump into you and suddenly there's ghosts and storms and mutant bugs everywhere."

Artemis shrinks a little, hunches her shoulders as if to protect her head.

"I'm sorry," she says, before she can stop herself. Cass looks up from the path with a sharp movement of her head.

"Oh," she says. "Uh. No, like … it's okay, I'm just – I just meant it's weird."

Artemis doesn't respond, cowed into silence by the weight of her own shame. She _knows_ that's not what Cass meant. And now look, she's forcing Cass to go the extra mile and reassure her. It's okay to be scared but Artemis draws the line at emotional manipulation. Maybe she didn't mean to do it, but that doesn't mean it didn't happen.

Cass looks like she doesn't know what to say either. The silence grows, curdles, becomes awkward and uncomfortable. They walk on without looking at each other, eyes fixed on the growing grey blur of Pallet in the distance.

Of course, there is always the chance that this _was_ Artemis' fault. She smelled burning. And okay, she _might_ have imagined it, but it seemed pretty real, and she's never hallucinated a smell before. And while there's a chance that what happened to the scyther was just an accident, a horrible evolutionary malfunction that made it blindly furious with pain, Artemis can't deny that an awful lot of weird things have been happening to her recently.

She fights the conclusion as best she can. No evidence, Artie, remember that. No evidence, and you have a past history of delusive thinking. Sometimes things happen without fitting into a wider pattern. They really really do.

On her chest, Brauron can feel her heart pounding through her ribs and the warm silicone of her breasts. She climbs up Artemis' dress and curls herself delicately around the back of her neck, pressing her head against her jaw. Artemis blinks back tears and reaches up with one hand to run her fingers along the ridges of her marbled back. She wants to say thank you, but she's afraid to speak.

The landscape moves around them, sloping towards the town below and narrowing as it goes. If you look carefully, you can see a couple of buildings off to the right, behind the trees; this end of the Route 1 trail is pretty tightly packed in among the expanding Pallet outskirts. Not much further to go, anyway. Soon the trail will end and they'll be able to get the bus to the Centre.

In Artemis' hand, the scyther's ball feels hot and damp with sweat. She would put it in her bag, but she has a nagging fear that it will suddenly regain consciousness and break its way out, and if that happens she really wants to be able to throw the ball away as quickly as possible.

She shifts her grip on it and breathes out. The sooner she can give this thing to the doctors, the better.

They make the end of the trail at around four o'clock. It's easy to tell, because there's a point at which the field just ends, right up against a road with a bus stop and smart little houses. On either side of the path, the houses are half-hidden by trees, but the League foresters weren't able to hide the traffic sounds. It's probably no coincidence that Artemis hasn't seen a single wild pokémon since the scyther; this end of Route 1 isn't really wild at all.

"Hey, civilisation," says Cass, breaking the silence at last with a chirpiness that makes Artemis wonder if it was only her that was feeling awkward. "All _right_. Nice to be back after that scyther, huh?"

"Yeah," agrees Artemis. "Nice."

"Bus or walk? I think the Centre's near here." Cass pokes at her phone. "Oh yeah, it's just a couple blocks away. I guess that makes sense. Near Route 1 and all."

"Let's walk, then," suggests Artemis, and Cass readily agrees. This part of Pallet is nice enough, big stuccoed houses each standing in their own patch of garden. It's a world away from Artemis' house among the terraces crammed into Pewter's Greyside, a square of city between the rail line and the highway that houses several thousand more aspirations than it does people. Coming from there, Artemis finds this place a little intimidating, but she can't deny, it's fun to gawk.

The streets are quiet, and it isn't until they turn the corner onto the approach to the Pokémon Centre itself that they start to see any real traffic. Even then, it consists of three cars and a few kids heading out towards Route 1 with bulbasaur and growlithe scampering along at their heels.

"Sleepy town, huh," says Cass.

"Yep," says Artemis. "Cerulean's pretty big, right?"

"Yeah. I mean I live in the suburbs really. And I spent most of the last eight years in the middle of freakin nowhere, so y'know." Cass shrugs, which jostles Ringo and makes him peck at her ear in irritation. "Ow. _Okay_ , Ringo. Uh, point is, I guess I'm used to quiet."

"Oh."

"You're not?"

"Nope," replies Artemis. "Pewter girl, born and bred." (The usual little frisson of excitement: yes, she said _girl_ , and Cass believed her.)

"Ah," says Cass. "I guess you wouldn't be, then."

Inside, the Pokémon Centre has the same clean, crisp hospital feel to it as the one in Viridian, but the colour scheme is brighter and cheerier, and the receptionist is trying very badly to conceal the fact that she's reading something on her tablet under the desk. Artemis walks up to her and receives a startled look that melts into a kind of nervous twitchiness, an obvious unease at having to deal with someone as patchwork as Artemis.

"Hi," she says. "I, um, my friend and I, we ran into this … weird hurt scyther on Route 1? And it tried to attack us and I think it really needs a doctor."

"Okay," replies the receptionist. "Did you, uh, did you catch it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I got it here …"

Ten minutes later, she's free of it, at least physically. A couple of very interested doctors have taken the scyther away, and all that's left is the memory of it in her head, that furious eye, that broken blade. The way it moved. The way it _hunted_.

Artemis looks at Cass.

"I think I'll get Brauron's tail checked out," she says. "You know. While I'm here."

"Okay, sure," replies Cass. "See you later, then."

"See you later."

Cass goes one way and Artemis another. In the dimly-lit corners of her mind, the scyther joins the spire and the blurred man, and follows.


	8. 08: Dubious Beliefs

**08: DUBIOUS BELIEFS**

Brauron will be absolutely fine. The doctor is very nice, looks at Artemis and knows immediately that she's the kind of person who gets scared, and she tells her that most pokémon, so long as they're well cared for, can shrug off more or less anything. They're really not like regular animals.

"We once had a machoke come in with her arm almost all the way off from trying to put an angry gallade in a headlock," she says, while Brauron wriggles away from her gloved hands. "All we had to do was stitch it back in place and a month later you could hardly even see the scar."

Artemis says thank you and goes away feeling embarrassed. She _knew_ that. She did. But that scyther – the way it moved, the way it wasn't just trying to win but to _kill_ – well, a thing like that, it gets to you, or it gets to her anyway. She thought she was starting to get to grips with pokémon training, but now she's not so sure. It has a wildness around the edges that she isn't certain she can handle.

Anyway, she decides not to think about it, or at least to try not to, which is almost the same thing, and goes to find Cass stretched out on a couch in the lounge, talking on the phone.

"Yeah, okay," she's saying. "I'll keep you posted. Okay look, I gotta go, Artemis is back. Love you too. Bye!" She lowers her phone, looking awkward. "My aunt again," she explains. "Honestly. Can't even go just one town without her checking up on me."

"That sounds kinda sweet," says Artemis, thinking of her own parents, knowing she will have to call them soon. "I guess she cares."

"Yeah, I guess. Maybe she could like care a little more intermittently, though." Cass sits up, dislodging Ringo from her stomach with a squawk and a flurry of ruffled feathers. "Oops. You okay? All right. So, what'd the doc say?"

"Oh, she'll be okay." Artemis raises the hand that Brauron is currently coiled around, tail flexed as easily as if the cut wasn't there. "You can hardly even see it any more."

"Neat," she says. "So what now? Dunno about you, but I'm thinking stay here for a bit. Kind of a rest after all that weirdness, y'know. Maybe do the whole trainer 'n' tourist thing tomorrow."

"Yeah, I'm with you there," says Artemis. "I think Brauron deserves a break anyway."

"Cool." Cass sinks back down, filling the whole sofa in a way that argues for what seems to Artemis like an incredible ease with the space she occupies. They're the only people in the room – the Pallet Pokémon Centre is rarely very busy – but still. Artemis herself could never spread out like that. "In which case, I'mma do some good old-fashioned time-wasting. Wifi password's 6n99f, by the way."

"Right." That makes Artemis smile a little. "Okay. I think I might call my parents."

Now she's said it, in the presence of a witness no less, she really has to do it. She goes up to her room – they've each got their own this time – and opens up her contacts, stares at the home phone number.

She breathes in, and out. She pushes her thoughts around inside her head and forces them into the correct order. She finds her old name, and with a flicker of unease lets it settle back onto her like the robe of Nessus.

Artemis pushes the button, and raises her phone to her ear.

* * *

In the morning, over breakfast, she and Cass discuss what to do next.

The thing about Pallet is that there isn't much here. It's the kind of place people move to so they don't have to live where they work in Viridian; there are houses, supermarkets and malls to service them, and not much else. No Gym, no museums, no culture to speak of; the only real tourist attraction is the Oak Foundation Lab, and even then the appeal is somewhat limited. It's been a long time now since Oak himself was considered a rebel: these days, he's so establishment that the title 'Professor' is no longer a nickname but an actual official thing given to him by the University of Pewter. And honestly, Artemis can think of plenty of things she'd rather be doing than poking around some university faculty. Her place at Yellowbrick in Saffron is for engineering rather than natural sciences or pokézoology, but she'd prefer to put the whole topic of organised study out of her head for a while.

Of course, she doesn't say any of this, not in so many words, but she does float the possibility of getting the ferry out to Cinnabar sooner rather than later. It's not like hiking, after all; it won't be strenuous. Trainers get tickets for next to nothing and you can sit on the deck for a day or two, watching the waves and soaking up the sun.

Cass seems tempted, but before they come to a decision someone with a Centre name badge comes up to their table and interrupts.

"Excuse me," he says. "Are you the, um, the trainer who brought in the scyther yesterday?"

Two fears in counterpoint: one, _what do they want with me;_ two, _I know what that 'um' means_. Artemis swallows both and nods.

"Yeah," she says. "I am."

"Someone from the Oak Foundation just called," the man tells her. "We sent the scyther over there once it was stable – it really needs more specialist attention than we can provide – and they'd like to ask you a few questions about it, if that's okay."

It isn't really, but whatever.

"Okay," says Artemis. "When do they want us?"

"Any time today," replies the man. "Just head over when you get a chance and ask for" – he checks a name written down on a piece of paper – "Dr Vigdísardóttir."

The difficulty he has with the polysyllables makes Artemis feel a little better. People tend to struggle with her surname too, these days. Apparently Apanchomene is harder than Campbell.

"Okay," she says again. "Thanks. We'll do that." The man leaves, and she raises her eyebrows at Cass. "I guess they made the decision for us," she says.

"Yep," says Cass. "I guess they did. Okay, Ringo, hurry it up. We got places to be."

So they end up at the Oak Foundation Lab after all, and Artemis has to admit, it's kinda pretty, in its own way. The original building is still there, lurking like a poor relative among the fancier new builds, but it stands at the back of a picturesque quadrangle with a fountain in the middle. Even the spiked iron railings that separate the site from the street are at least _elegantly_ unwelcoming.

"It's bigger than I thought," says Cass, staring through the gates at a gang of research students crossing the courtyard. "Is it like part of a university now?"

"Pewter," replies Artemis. "I guess he didn't want to go back to Yellowbrick."

They go in and follow the signs for reception to a low building on the left that might have been considered tasteful forty years ago but which now looks like a slightly melted birthday cake. Someone's made an effort to hide the worst excesses with ornamental hedges, but it looks like a losing battle. Inside, there are prints of old scientific illustrations hanging on the walls, and a receptionist about Artemis' own age who listens to Cass stumble across the Icelandic surname with an expression that suggests he has heard every single mispronunciation of it known to humankind.

"Okay," he says. "I'll let her know you're here. Just take a seat and she'll be right out."

They do, and she is. Artemis and Cass first become aware of her long before she actually reaches the reception; there's a sound from down the hall, a plaintive _oops_ and the sound of papers flying everywhere. A couple drift out into the reception area, and the man behind the desk looks up from his computer.

"That'll be her now," he says, and sure enough, after a couple of seconds of scrabbling during which Artemis tries to find the courage to get up and help for so long that she misses the opportunity, Dr Vigdísardóttir bustles into view, tall and fair and with what looks like half a sequoia's worth of paper clutched against her chest.

"And you and _you_ ," she mutters, picking up the last two sheets and trying to shuffle them all back into a stack against the edge of the receptionist's desk. "Ah. Okay. Hi, Alec, you said …?" The receptionist points, and Dr Vigdísardóttir turns. "Ah," she says. "Cassandra and Artemis?"

"Cass is fine," says Cass quickly. "But yeah. Um. Hi."

"And Rena will be fine for me," replies the doctor. "Sorry, I'd shake your hand but – well." She waggles her papers, then clutches them tighter as they threaten to slide away from her again. "Good to meet you both. Could you come with me? I need to get these to my office and we might as well talk there."

"Sure," says Cass, and follows Rena down the hall. Artemis trails after, silent and awkward. She should have come out here earlier and helped pick up the papers.

"Your scyther is _very_ interesting," says Rena, weaving in between a graduate student and a nidorino with a spectacular lack of grace. "Oh, sorry, Graham. Was that your foot? Excuse me – where was I? Oh yes, your scyther."

"It's not really mine," says Cass. "Artemis caught it."

"Ringo knocked it down, though," counters Artemis.

"Yeah, and Brauron knocked it _out_."

"Okay, well – it's not really mine either," says Artemis. "I mean, I was just trying to not get stabbed."

Rena listens with an air of benevolent confusion.

"I see," she says, in the polite tone of someone who really, really doesn't. "Well, anyway, it's very interesting. I specialise in bug-type evolution and I haven't ever seen anything like it before." She arrives at a door and attempts to open it with her shoulder; Artemis, in what feels to her like a pathetic attempt at redemption, steps forward and opens it for her. "Thanks. Yes, my office is in the Fisher Building, over there."

Trees on one side, brick wall on the other; Artemis has completely lost track of where they are. The lab site didn't look this big from the road. It must go back further than she thought.

"There are definitely cases of evolution going wrong before," explains Rena, as they walk. "Most famously perhaps with eevee – I'm sure you've seen pictures of what happens when they try to evolve in two directions at once. That's the problem with being so unstable. The more labile, the bigger the risk of collapse … although to be fair, they _do_ sometimes survive. I believe there was quite a famous trainer when I was a girl who had what he called a flaporeon. It had five legs and mostly spat steam. I think it died very young. Left here!"

They turn a corner onto a path leading up to a building slightly less ugly than the previous one and Artemis takes advantage of the sudden pause to get in a question.

"So about the scyther―"

"Ah!" cries Rena, as if she'd forgotten. "Yes, the scyther. So, as I was saying, evolution can go wrong – but it's very uncommon among bug-types. Insects shift from instar to instar quite happily, after all. The evolution of bug-types is simply that, scaled up."

Artemis is quicker this time, and gets the door to the Fisher Building before Rena has a chance to try for it and drop her papers.

"Thanks. What I'm saying is, this is the first case I've heard of in which a scyther has suffered some sort of evolutionary mishap. Sometimes you do find a scizor that gets stuck in its old shell, but they're perfectly capable of breaking their way out once their new claws harden up. This is different. Your scyther isn't fully evolved. It doesn't have the musculature to handle that scizor claw at all. Which is actually rather a good thing, because if it did I think it would have chopped its way out of its enclosure already. It's rather determined not to be helped, I'm afraid."

She hardly seems to draw breath; it's tiring just listening to her. While she pauses to try and figure out how to get the keys to her office door out of her pocket without dropping her papers, Cass smiles at Artemis behind her, and Artemis surprises herself by smiling back. Is that mean of her? She hopes not. Rena seems very nice, just … also very talkative. _Very_ talkative.

"Would you like me to hold that a minute?" she asks.

"Oh. Thank you. Yes, that simplifies things." She unlocks the door and takes the papers back. "Right. Come in, then."

The office looks more or less as Artemis expected: a chaotic mess of files, books and papers, some stacked up to rather precarious heights. On the walls are an eclectic mixture of photos of bug-type pokémon, images from what Artemis thinks is the _Mahabharata_ , and antiquated lolcats with an unexpectedly Marxist bent: _I can haz control of the means of production?_ Taken all together, it's quite a character portrait.

"Let me just move these," says Rena, depositing her papers on an already overloaded desk and clearing several books from two chairs. "Right. There." The three of them sit – Rena on the same side of the desk as them, as opposed to behind it. Artemis appreciates that. It makes this a little less intimidating. "So as you were saying," begins Rena, and then pauses. "No. Wait. _I_ was saying, wasn't I? Yes. As I was saying, I want to ask you a few questions. This scyther, or scizor, is unlike anything I've ever seen before, and I'd like to build up as complete a picture of its history as possible."

"Sure," says Cass. "Happy to help. 'S why we came here, after all."

"Great." Rena clicks open a pen and opens a notebook. "Do you mind if I take notes? I'm terrible at remembering details. Thanks. Okay, can you first tell me where exactly you found the scyther?"

"About three quarters of the way down the Route 1 trail," replies Cass. "What were we – a couple hours away from Pallet?"

Artemis nods.

"Yeah," she says. "That part where the grass is really tall, you know?"

Rena does know – well enough to ask exactly which part of that stretch of trail they mean, and to understand the answer. They describe the direction the scyther came from, the way it used the cover, its apparent single-minded determination to kill whatever it could find. (Artemis does not have the nerve to point out that it was entirely focused on her, that it acted as if drawn to breach.) Rena nods and writes this down and asks more questions about its actions and appearance.

"A lot of its green shell has since come off after that fire attack, and I'm interested to know what sort of pressures its body was under," she explains. "Have you seen pictures? No? Hang on, I have one here …"

Without the hanging remnants of its former exoskeleton, the creature looks even worse: most of its shell is rusty and blotched, like the colour has somehow curdled, and with the exception of its left arm none of its limbs are the right shape. That blade is long and lumpy and bent in ways that make it look broken; that staring eye is in fact the only one it has left, the other crushed beneath a carunculated mass of hypertrophied chitin. Under the flat light of the surgery in which the pictures were taken, it looks like something from another world.

Artemis cannot help but be aware that she's seen a lot of that kind of thing recently. For once, she doesn't try to squash the thought. It's clearly going to be one of those things. Doesn't matter if she knows there's probably no connection. She's going to keep believing that there is.

"It's very angry," adds Rena, while she and Cass gawp. "Scyther aren't known for their sunny dispositions, but this one is … exceptionally aggressive. It's strange. They're more easily provoked when sick or in pain, of course, but they also tend to avoid contact with humans or pokémon, too. Yet you say this one chased you down."

Because of breach, Artemis thinks.

"Yeah," she says. "I don't know why."

"Nor do I. But I'd like to find out." Rena sits back and chews her pen thoughtfully. "There is of course always the possibility that it's just a jerk. Some animals just are, same as people. But if so, it's a very dedicated one."

A brief pause. Outside Rena's window, the branches of decorative elms go back and forth.

"What else can you tell me about it?" she asks. "Anything else unusual?"

"There was this weird smell," says Cass, and Artemis is all at once very, very aware of her own heartbeat. "Like burning. I thought it was just Brauron's fire, but now I think about it I'm not sure. That smells weird, y'know? Like … kinda sweet, almost."

"Yeah," mumbles Artemis, trying to level out her voice and not succeeding. "I always think like – like honey."

"Yeah, that's it." Cass glances briefly in her direction, but if she senses her discomfort she doesn't show it. "And that's not what it was? This was more like a normal fire."

"I see," says Rena. "I haven't noticed any such smell myself, and nobody has mentioned it …"

"It _was_ there, though," insists Cass. "Right, Artemis?"

Four eyes suddenly on her. Artemis flinches and knows from the concern and pity in their faces that they notice.

"I, uh," she says. "Yeah. Yeah, I definitely noticed it too."

"Okay," says Rena, not quite concealing her confusion. "Okay, then. That seems … well. Not quite sure what to make of that. You're sure it was the scyther giving off this scent?"

"I'm pretty sure," says Cass, jumping in and (consciously or not) saving Artemis from having to respond. "There wasn't anything else around to make it. No smoke or anything from a fire."

"Hm. Interesting." Rena writes it down, capping it off with an extravagantly curly question mark. "All right," she says. "I'd like to ask you a bit about its blade now…"

* * *

A. Grahame is a hard person to find. Fortunately, Emilia has the resources to make it happen anyway.

After a slew of phone calls and emails moving tomorrow's appointments – nobody questions her; the fact that she is never ill makes everyone believe that she really must be – she logs on to the League intranet and does a little searching. A. Grahame isn't in the index of contact details for all the League members, but that's fair enough; Emilia didn't really expect that they would be. They're also not on Lorelei's books – those that are actually accessible, anyway. It figures. It's annoying, but it figures.

"I guess I knew it wouldn't be that easy," says Emilia, leaning back in her chair and stretching out her back. "Okay. Let's see what Stella can get us."

Ten minutes later, she has composed and sent an email calling in an exceptionally large favour. She's been saving it for a couple years now, ever since she made sure that the copy of Stella's criminal record that reached her employer's desk was one without the drugs charges on it. (Emilia does not agree with the position taken by Kantan drug law, and anyway Stella is a good person and Emilia has no right to judge anyone for any kind of substance abuse, with her history.) Really, it almost seems a shame to use it up. But there's no alternative: Emilia has to know who A. Grahame is and what project they were working on, and to do that she's going to need access to the sort of archives that her usual contacts won't be able to show her.

After she's sent the email, she closes her computer and makes a start on dinner. No sense spying on an empty stomach. And anyway, no matter how quickly she gets a reply, Emilia isn't going to fly up to the Indigo Plateau tonight. By the time she got there, Stella would be gone, and making stay late on top of helping her break into the system would definitely be asking too much of her.

She eats and tries to catch up on the TV she's missed because of her trip, but her concentration keeps wavering and in the end, sick of rewinding the last five minutes over and over, she gives up and turns the TV off. Then, when Nadia broadcasts her protest, she turns it back on.

"Okay," she says. "I'm going to bed. Turn it off when you're done, all right?"

 _YES_ , says Nadia, and Emilia leaves her to it. She doesn't actually seem to be able to interpret the pictures on the screen as representations of real things, but she likes the colours. Emilia has not infrequently come into the living-room in the morning to find her staring avidly at the twenty-four hour news channel with the sound off, entranced by the rippling red logo of KNBC News. You'll ruin your eyes, Emilia told her – but only once. It made her feel like a parent talking to her child, and she wasn't sure how she felt about that.

On her way out, she brushes her hand along Effie's stem.

"Goodnight," she whispers under her breath, pretending for a moment that Nadia cannot hear the words echoed in her mind, and then she goes to clean her teeth and floss and take herself efficiently apart so she can sleep.

In the morning, Emilia automatically begins to dress and then stops partway through, remembering that she doesn't have any appointments to keep. It's a strange feeling. She puts away the suit she was about to wear and instead throws on an old pair of jeans and a t-shirt she hasn't worn in months. Suppressing the feeling that she is underdressed, she makes coffee and takes it into the living-room to book a flight to the Plateau.

As she enters, Nadia stops staring into space and stares at her instead.

 _?_ , she asks. Emilia folds her arms defensively.

"I'm sick today, remember?" she says. "No work."

Nadia keeps staring. Emilia sighs.

"Yeah, I know."

She checks on Effie, which technically does not consist of anything more than quickly glancing at her but which nevertheless takes her several minutes, and then she opens up her laptop and reads the answering email from Stella. She doesn't seem very happy, but she's agreed. Good. Next up, Emilia finds a flight. It's not an expense she'd budgeted for, but it's okay; she doesn't actually spend all that much of what the League pays her – which, given her high position and general indispensability, is quite a lot. Some of it goes into an investment account and much of the rest to a charity that supports abused children; some just sits there, waiting for her to finally get around to going out and spending it. This does not happen often, in part because Emilia is too busy working and in part because she is even now a little afraid that if she touches the money it might all disappear and leave her right back where she started.

"Right," she says. "Get ready, Nadia. We're leaving in fifteen minutes."

She announces it more for her benefit than Nadia's. She's the one who needs to get changed (not without some relief) back into something more formal, as a disguise for when she arrives at the Plateau. It's a pity she didn't think of that earlier, really. Would have saved her the awkwardness.

Anyway: she changes and they go, and after a taxi and a plane the two of them emerge into the bright light of the Indigo Plateau, high up among the Tohjo Mountains in the northenmost corner of the country. It's a strange town, centred on the Indigo Palace where the Elite Four and Championship challenges take place and populated mostly by clerks and bureaucrats, with a scaffolding of service workers that keep the whole thing running. There's no farming here, no industry, no natural resources at all except the water that flows down from the mountain streams. When the Palace was built two thousand years ago, it served no purpose but to mark the power of the people who constructed it. It still does that now, in a sense. It might be mostly empty except when the challenges are on, but it's at the heart of its own small city, a township that exists solely to serve it and its masters. As much as anything can be, it _is_ the Indigo League.

The whole way through the town from the airport to the office, Emilia can see it. It's a deliberate architectural decision – the League have never allowed anything big enough to rival the Palace to be built here – but even knowing that, and even after all this time, some of the magic lingers. Emilia looks out of the window of her taxi, sees it loom in hundreds of feet of carved granite above the office parks and terraced League housing, and feels the same flicker of awe that she felt when she first arrived here for the interview.

She's aware that it's mostly just old childhood dreams, stirred up by the famous skyline. It doesn't matter. The League has always been about the dreams of children, and that's exactly what makes it so important. There's a reason Emilia works for it rather than in the civil service.

The office she's headed towards is parked among the upper storeys of a forgettable block in the west side of town. It doesn't look important, and in many ways it probably isn't, but it's where Lorelei's department's records are processed, and that means that short of breaking into Lorelei's office itself it's Emilia's only real chance of finding out anything about A. Grahame. The League is like any other government agency, after all. No matter how hard they try to hide it, everything gets written down _somewhere_. And someone has to file it away, and that someone of course actually hires several clerks to do the filing for him, and one of those clerks got her job by leaning on what might loosely be called her friendship with Emilia in order to disappear a conviction or two.

Illegal, yes. But probably morally justified, and anyway it bought Emilia the favour she's calling in now. She texts Stella to let her know she's arrived, takes the elevator to the third floor and finds her waiting in the corridor, fiddling with her hair and shifting from foot to foot.

"Hi, Stella," says Emilia, folding her sunglasses. "How's things?"

"Not great," she replies. "Someone wants me to risk my ass breaking some major laws."

Emilia sighs.

"Okay, I deserved that." It pays to be polite, but in truth, she isn't sure that she does, or even if she likes Stella enough to feel bad for her. The two of them went to university together, and that means that Stella is more or less the only person in Emilia's current life who knows what she is and who she used to be. And though Emilia tells herself that this doesn't matter, that she is proud of what she is and anyway if the _Champion_ isn't cis then what does it matter if people know she isn't either, this still means that she cannot deal with Stella without a certain amount of unease. "I'll try to make this as painless as possible," she continues. "I'll be as quick as I can, and if I'm discovered I'm not mentioning names."

"Yeah, okay." Stella sighs. "This way, then, Santangelo."

Emilia smiles and follows and does not say anything, despite the fact that Stella only started calling her that after she changed her forename. They walk down a grey-carpeted corridor, past glass doors leading onto half-empty cubicles, and turn left into a small, dim room at the back of the building. There's a window that looks out onto the car park, but somehow very little light seems to get through it. There are also three desks, all vacant, and Stella indicates the one in the corner.

"I've been logged in for a while already," she says. "That way all they can get me for is forgetting to log back out again while I went out. Just leave it all as it is when you're done and text me once you're out of the building."

Emilia nods.

"I'll do that. Thanks, Stella. I appreciate this."

"Yeah, yeah." Stella folds her arms, unfolds them again. She doesn't seem to know what to do with her limbs. "Okay, well, I'm out. I don't know anything about this."

She leaves, and Emilia sits. Nadia, who has been silent on her shoulder the whole time, takes the opportunity to hop off onto the desk and stretch her wings.

"Keep an eye on the corridor's future for me," says Emilia. "If anyone's coming, I want to know at least five minutes before they get here, okay?"

Nadia cheeps and flutters effortfully from desk to desk until she reaches a pot plant by the door, in whose upper reaches she nestles herself, eyes pointed out into the corridor. On the periphery of her mind, Emilia senses her sight moving forward into the future.

She takes a breath. Okay.

"Crimes," she says, because Nadia is busy, and plunges into the database.

* * *

The interview goes on. After a while, Rena seems satisfied, and shuts her notebook.

"Well, I think that's all the questions I have," she says. "Now, do you have any questions of your own? Bearing in mind that we're all as much in the dark about this scyther as you are, of course."

"Is it gonna be okay?" asks Cass. "I mean, obviously it's sick, and it went down kinda fast …"

Rena sighs.

"I'm afraid I don't know," she says. "There isn't really much treatment we can offer. Pokémon are good at surviving and even thriving upon mutations that would cripple any conventional animal, but this scyther is an extreme case. There's a chance it might be able to hunt and look after itself, if we amputated that claw so it could at least move, but given that it's still berserk and extremely fragile, most of us feel that there isn't much we can do but learn what we can to help in future cases, and put it down as humanely as we can." She shakes her head slowly. "Sorry. I know it wasn't the answer you wanted."

"No, it's okay," says Cass, although she does not look like it is, particularly. "I mean, if there's nothing you can do …"

"We'll do what we can. But it might be the kindest thing."

Pause. On Cass' shoulder, Ringo shuffles and chirps uncomfortably, picking up on his partner's unease. In her mind's eye, Artemis sees the scyther lurching towards her, falling, shell corroded by Brauron's venom in the blink of an eye. No. Definitely not healthy.

"Anything else?" asks Rena. She sounds hopeful. Probably she wants a more cheerful question. And – well. Artemis _does_ have a question, if she can find the courage to ask it, but it's not very much more positive.

Okay, Artie. Go.

"Do you think it's … I mean is it …" Stop. Breathe. Okay? Okay. "Have you heard of breach?" she asks.

Rena's eyes widen, very slightly.

"Breach," she says, furrowing her brow. "No, I can't say that I have … why, what is it?"

Lying? Maybe lying. Her eyes – but maybe she was imagining that. Artemis collects herself, tries to remember what she can and can't say according to the contract she signed with the League. It was just what she saw out in the woods, right?

"I … it's some kind of radiation, I think," lies Artemis. "Something I read about somewhere. I just – that scyther, that kind of mutation, it seems like―"

"Conspiracy theories, I'm sure," says Rena, too quickly. Either lying or just uncomfortable. Artemis hates that she can't trust herself to tell. "Never heard of this breach thing."

Artemis lowers her eyes, cheeks burning, heart pounding with a sick, aggressive beat.

"Okay," she says, hating how obviously wounded she sounds. "Okay."

A painful kind of silence. Brauron climbs onto Artemis' shoulder and drapes herself around the back of her neck. It's a little hot in here for that, but Artemis is grateful anyway.

"I guess that's everything, then," says Rena. "Thank you both for coming in!"

"Oh, it's no problem," says Cass. "I mean, we _are_ trainers. Lotta free time."

"Of course." Rena beams in that I'm-remembering-my-trainer-journey kinda way. "Best summer of my life. My raticate is sadly no longer with us, but her grandkids are still chewing through my furniture to this day." She sits there for a moment, lost in reverie, and then puts her notebook and pen away. "All right, then."

Cass and Artemis stand. She shakes their hands (Artemis' with almost-well-concealed reluctance: is it because of breach, or because she's trans?) and says goodbye, and they say goodbye back, and then they leave her and walk together in silence until they're back in the real world, out in the quiet Pallet street.

Cass looks at Artemis.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

Artemis nods.

"Okay," says Cass. She seems out of her depth, but willing to try. It's very sweet of her. "Okay, let's … go, then."

They begin to walk. After a few minutes, Artemis finds her voice.

"So," she says. "Cassandra?"

Cass screws up her face, mock-disgusted.

"You can't tell me I have a ridiculous name, your name's _Artemis_."

Much to her own surprise, Artemis smiles.

"Yep," she says. "Chose it myself."

"Huh? Really?"

"Uh, yeah," says Artemis. "My parents had other ideas about what to call me."

"Oh." Cass looks a little nervous. "Yeah, I guess they probably would have."

The silence comes back, and Artemis' smile fades. She's made things awkward again, hasn't she?

"You go on ahead," she says. "I need to buy a few things in town."

"Hm? Oh shoot, actually, I'm glad you said that," says Cass. "I'm almost out of … everything, actually. Ringo's gonna be mad if he doesn't have his mealworms." Ringo seems to recognise the word: he tenses suddenly and peers sharply into his partner's face. "No, birdbrain, not _now_ ," sighs Cass. "Just talking about them, okay?"

Artemis hesitates. She'd kind of wanted a couple of minutes to herself, after screwing up as badly as she did in Rena's office. But okay, she can't say anything, so whatever.

"Sure," she says. "I think the town centre's this way …"

* * *

Emilia amends her previous statement: A. Grahame is a _really_ hard person to find. This, as close to an official database of people who Lorelei employs as there is, has nothing on them. There's an A. Grantham, and an A. Rohame, but no A. Grahame. There's even an S. Nakajima, who Emilia knows for a fact is embedded in the heart of the League's time travel research division – and honestly, up till now, Emilia was pretty sure that that was as top secret as things get. If he's here, then A. Grahame should be too. But no, apparently there's another level of secrecy beyond that. For a moment, Emilia imagines layers upon layers mounting endlessly into a fog of misdirection, and then she reminds herself that this is the real world and she's dealing with real people. People aren't capable of that kind of elaborate nonsense. Usually, if something doesn't look right, it's because it _is_ and everyone involved is kind of hoping that nobody else will notice.

Still. The breach project, if that's what it was, must have been very deeply buried indeed. There's no record that anyone called A. Grahame ever worked for the League in any capacity whatsoever.

Emilia unbends her back and tries to think. Is it really completely off the record? That seems … unlikely. People need to be paid and departments need to be financed, after all, and Emilia has seen far too much of the League to have any illusions that it can do that without leaving a paper trail. The whole thing is one big bureaucratic mess that can barely keep itself upright, let alone disappear entire operations without a trace.

So. What's a more likely scenario? One, they could have―

 _HOLD_ , says Nadia suddenly, and without missing a beat Emilia gets up, ready to slip out―

 _NO_ , says Nadia. _NEXT DOOR_.

Emilia breathes out and sits back down.

"Thanks," she says. "Keep me posted."

 _YES_.

Okay. Where was she? Alternatives, right. So what the League could have done is routed the payments through another department – they could probably have hidden something among Bruno's endless PR and liaison subcommittees, although the cost of research equipment would have been difficult to explain away. But it seems a little too elaborate; that's not the kind of thing that actually happens in real life. Besides, Lorelei wouldn't have wanted to risk Bruno asking questions. He's not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, but he's tenacious, and Emilia knows all too well how much trouble someone who refuses to give up can be.

So. Another option: the documentation was destroyed when the project was cancelled. That makes a lot more sense to Emilia, considering A. Grahame seemed to think that Lorelei cancelled it out of an attack of conscience. When her anomalous resources screw up, she does like to make the mess disappear, as Emilia can well attest.

This scenario doesn't leave much for Emilia to dig through, though. If there's no record of who A. Grahame is, then how is she meant to figure out where they worked?

It's a difficult one. She sits there and thinks for a moment, then gets up and begins to pace. Nadia broadcasts a nonverbal wave of concern, something that might be translated as _you're less well hidden if you move_ , but she waves it aside.

"I need to think," she tells her. "Just keep watching."

Nadia isn't happy about it, but she obeys, and Emilia keeps pacing. Think, now. What's the way around this? Because there's always a solution, _always_ , it's just a matter of how creatively you think and how many resources you commit. If there is anything that life has taught her, it's that there is no problem that cannot be solved.

Can't find A. Grahame. Documentation probably destroyed. Would Lorelei have missed anything? Nothing incriminating, certainly. No employee records. No budgets, no committee minutes.

Emilia stops.

"Budgets," she mutters, and sits back down.

There is another database: one that the League accounting departments use for managing the finances of Lorelei's research teams. One that isn't directly controlled by Lorelei or any of her people, that only ever gets edited by accounting staff. And nobody minds about that, because everything on it is coded anyway – but given the date on A. Grahame's email, if Emilia looks for anything that has been receiving funding but suddenly stopped this quarter …

A couple of minutes, and she's poring through the records. A respectable number of the projects listed here are top secret, obviously, but Emilia knows about some of them all the same. B/8 is the artificial pokémon development team, keeping tabs on Silph's porygon programme while also investigating the spontaneous generation of creatures like voltorb and grimer. OD4R is time travel, based in that bunker out in Ilex Forest. Project Glossolalia is communication with inhuman intelligences – mostly working with ghosts, some of which are definitely as smart as humans but also too alien to be understandable. There are others here too that Emilia doesn't recognise – J55, Project Danzig, ANCHOR – but that doesn't really matter. All that does is the dates.

Here: three projects, of one kind or another, that didn't get any funding this quarter. Project Danzig – okay, no idea what that is; mark it down as a maybe. Q99 – no, Emilia knows that one; it's one of the apparently endless move research teams, was working on developing some interesting new dragon-type moves before its funding was diverted into Project Glossolalia after that incident up in the mountains. And the third one: ROCKETS.

Emilia stares.

It's probably just a coincidence. Surely they wouldn't be thoughtless enough to give this thing the same name as Giovanni's flagship casino. _Surely_.

No, thinks Emilia, this is the League we're talking about. They absolutely would be.

She looks again at the screen. It's very clear. ROCKETS received about half a million florins last quarter, and now nothing. So did Danzig and Q99, but their names are nowhere near as suspicious.

Emilia sighs and makes a note. This is probably what she was looking for. Ask Lorelei directly what ROCKETS was, and she'll squirm but she'll answer, if it's Emilia who's asking. She might never trust her again, but she'll do it. And after that … well, _what_ after that? There isn't anything here that suggests ROCKETS continued in secret. Whatever was going on, Emilia still has no evidence that it didn't stop when the funding did.

 _HOLD_ , says Nadia, and Emilia starts, rises quickly from her seat. _COMING SOON_.

"Okay," she replies, moving to the door. "That's it, Nadia, we're going."

She hops onto Emilia's outstretched hand and makes her way up to her usual perch on her shoulder.

 _FOUND FURRET MAN?_ she asks hopefully, as they walk back down the corridor towards the lifts.

 _Not quite_ , replies Emilia in her head, nodding pleasantly at a passing clerk as if she wanders around here every day. _But we're getting there_.

On her way back to the airport, she texts Stella and gets a curt _okay_ in response. She supposes that's all she wants. Nobody found her, nothing went wrong, Stella had no reason to do … anything that Emilia might come to regret.

It probably wouldn't have happened. Stella wouldn't gain anything from that kind of petty spite except Emilia's enmity, and Emilia is sufficiently well connected that you don't want that.

She sighs, and feels in her bag for the plane tickets. By the time she gets back it'll be mid-afternoon. Late lunch, and then – then nothing, actually. She's sick, remember? For a moment, Emilia contemplates sitting in her apartment, watching TV and maybe even napping. Then she sighs again and begins to list off people to get in contact with about ROCKETS.

Emilia is good at a lot of things, but relaxation isn't one of them. There is after all a reason why this is the first day off she's had in years.

* * *

It's not so bad, going round the Pallet town centre with Cass. She buys mealworms and birdseed, and Artemis buys purple nail polish. Cass seems to sense something of why, and points out diffidently that she should buy some clear polish too, to use as a base coat beneath the colour. Artemis blushes at her own ignorance and thanks her for the tip.

Awkward, but bearable. And probably for the best. Artemis is the kind of person who researches everything before she does it in obsessive detail, but life doesn't like to be lived that way and there's always something she misses. If she's going to do Girl Things (as she capitalises them in her head with self-critical irony), then it wouldn't hurt to have an Official Girl (the irony continues) around to help her through them, and Chelle is not available right now.

And after that there are more mundane purchases to be made: snacks for the trip out to Cinnabar, some nail scissors because she forgot to pack her own, things like that. In the blandly commercial atmosphere of everyday life, the weirdness dissipates for a little while, and by the time they return, several hours later, to the Centre, she almost feels normal again.

When they go through the doors she tenses, half expecting Emilia or some other League spook to be waiting for her with an icy smile and questions about what she thinks she's doing, going around asking about breach, but there's no one, and she and Cass take their purchases up to their rooms without incident. Here, fighting Brauron's attempts to drink the nail polish – she seems to find the smell irresistible – Artemis applies it to her fingernails, and actually she doesn't do too bad a job of it. She's always been good with her hands, at making, painting, building. There was a time when she considered some kind of trade apprenticeship or even art school instead of university, to make the use of her skills and interest, but she never had the courage to say as much to her parents. They would have disagreed, anyway, and given all the history behind that decision she can't say they would have been wrong.

Anyway. History aside, her nails are now nice and purple. She stares at them for a while, delighted and for some reason amazed, and resists the urge to try and scrape the spillage off her fingers. Wait till it's dry, Artie.

From the top of the bedside cabinet, where she has been exiled until Artemis puts the lid back on the bottle of polish, Brauron eyes her nails and hisses.

"Oh no," says Artemis, holding her hands away and shaking her head. "No no no. You stop that, kiddo. I'm _not_ taking you downstairs to the Centre to have your stomach pumped because you thought nail polish looked tasty."

Brauron gives her what Artemis suspects is her most innocent look.

"Not falling for it," she insists. "You stay over there."

Juts then, Cass knocks and Artemis lets her and Ringo in, fumbling to keep from touching her nails on the handle.

"Hey," she says. "What's up?"

"Oh, nothing really. Ringo, don't," she adds warningly, as he turns his eye on the bag of ash pellets lying on Artemis' bag. "Just thinking about what now. We got kinda sidetracked by Rena and the scyther."

"Yep," says Artemis. "What are you thinking, then? Cinnabar?"

"Yeah, I think so. Was just looking up the ferry times. Apparently there's one at five this evening? Goes overnight, arrives at like one o'clock tomorrow."

"In the morning?"

"No, afternoon. Did you know it was that far to Cinnabar? It doesn't look like it on the map."

Artemis shrugs.

"I guess it is."

"Yeah." Pause. "So are you okay with going straight on to Cinnabar?"

She'll have to be. There are clues there, and sooner or later Artemis is going to have to look for them.

"Sure," says Artemis, with a confidence she doesn't feel. "Don't see why not."

"Cool!" Cass looks pleased. "I'm thinking we can train at the Gym for a few days, you know? Wasn't much point trying to do it in Pewter with the rock-types, but I feel like Ringo's got a shot with Blaine's trainers. And _obviously_ that'll be helpful for you and Brauron, too. Get some tips from the fire-type maestro."

"That's what I was thinking," says Artemis, which isn't exactly a lie; she _was_ thinking that, a while ago, but then Giovanni went and mentioned Cinnabar and now everything is different and difficult. "Just give me a bit and I'll start packing up."

"Hey, no rush. Ferry doesn't leave till five." Cass pauses. "I like your nails, by the way."

It takes Artemis a little while to untangle her tongue enough to respond, but she puts in the effort and does it anyway. Cass has only done a little thing, sure. But little things are sometimes very important.

After some time – much longer than she expected – her nails are dry enough for her to start packing her bag again. This done, she discovers that Cass has somehow not actually got round to packing her own bag yet, despite having all afternoon, so she waits for her to finish that and then the two of them hand in their room keys and head out.

As they leave, Artemis sees out of the corner of her eye someone coming down the street towards the Centre, and knows with a sudden unverifiable certainty that he is coming to find her, that mentioning breach at the lab triggered some secret League alarms and summoned government spooks to hunt her down. She tries to think about whether she mentioned where they were going to the receptionist. Cass said something, didn't she? She's better at talking than Artemis, speaks to everyone they meet with the same unfailing enthusiasm. So the guy at the front desk knows, so when this man following her asks he'll be able to tell him that she's on the way to the port, so …

You're jumping to conclusions, Artie, she tells herself. What's more likely, that this man is tracking you down on League orders or that he just wants to get his partner seen by a Centre doctor? She can't deny the second one is logical. And yet logic just doesn't enter into it, not really. Not in the face of that rushing, screaming wave of belief.

Artemis has been told she is high-functioning, that she is fortunate. She supposes this is probably true, but it's never really made it any easier.

She keeps walking with Cass and Ringo and Brauron, and if she thinks she sees anybody following she doesn't let it show on her face.

The Pallet docks are small, provincial even; there's no industry here, and not even that many passengers. Those travelling to Cinnabar more usually depart from Vermilion, Fuchsia or even Celadon, depending on where in the country they're coming from. Here in Pallet, there's none of the activity of the bigger docks; the town just ends abruptly in a tangle of mooring posts at the water's edge, and beyond that a few fishing boats and yachts bob up and down on the waves, bright and shiny in the summer light. Along from them are two larger boats, although they are not _much_ larger, and a tiny prefabricated block of a building that seems to be the ferry terminal.

"Man, this place is so _small_ ," says Cass, looking around. The seagulls outnumber the human pedestrians by about five to one. "There's seriously nothing in Pallet at all, is there?"

"Guess not," says Artemis. "What were you expecting?"

She herself wasn't expecting anything in particular. Pewter is a very landlocked city; this is the first time she's seen the ocean in at least six years.

"I dunno," says Cass. "Sailors? Stevedores? People carrying barrels around?"

"… were the last docks you saw in a pirate movie, by any chance?"

"Uh … so what if they were?" asks Cass, and they both laugh.

They make their way down the promenade to the ferry terminal, stopping briefly so Cass can physically hold Ringo back from flying off to assault the seagulls; like most spearow, the concept of picking his battles is somewhat alien to him. Artemis conceals her impatience. She keeps glimpsing the man who may or may not have been following her earlier – or other people that her brain has decided are that man – and she wants to get away from here as soon as possible, to be out on the water in a boat where imaginary pursuers (hopefully) can't follow.

But they make it in the end, without any fights breaking out or hands descending on her shoulder, and they buy their tickets and sit down to wait until it's time to board. Cass asks if it's okay if they wait inside, so Ringo doesn't fly off and cause trouble. Artemis says yeah, without mentioning that the reason it's okay is because in here she can keep an eye on the door and see who enters and exits.

Half an hour till boarding. It's going to be a long wait.


	9. 09: Covert Operations

**09: COVERT OPERATIONS**

After her trip to the Plateau, Emilia finds herself at an impasse. She puts out some feelers, asks a few acquaintances if they know anything about an organisation or agency called ROCKETS, but every avenue of investigation turns up a blank. It figures, really. Emilia has always known that the League makes sure that certain people don't come into contact with her. She's very good at what she does, and she has a conscience: a combination that makes her both extremely valuable and also something of a liability. This is fine. Emilia is perfectly capable of finding out most of the League's secrets anyway, if she really wants to. It's only the very deeply buried stuff that gives her trouble, and ROCKETS, whatever it is, seems to be that kind of thing.

So. She continues on with her usual business for a day or two: catches up on what she missed, liaises with Parliament, comes home and sits cross-legged in front of Effie, charting the development of the swelling at the tip of her stem. She Googles pictures of vileplume fruit and sees a bewildering variety, from every subspecies known to humankind; she narrows it down to Effie's species, the greater corpseflower, and sees fruits about the size and shape of a mango, virulently red and mottled with brown.

Effie's fruit is just beginning to take shape. Still green, and still for now smaller than Emilia's thumb. Emilia watches, measures, begins to consider buying a sack of potting compost and some little flowerpots.

The practicality of her thinking nauseates her. Some things are supposed to hit you hard, to be beyond your ability to reason with and prepare for. But apparently Emilia is that kind of pragmatic monster who can plan out how to plant Effie's brood while she dies right in front of her eyes.

Nadia watches all of it with her unblinking eyes, attempting to understand. Emilia can feel her mind on the edge of her own, working hard to parse the emotions she's picking up. She doesn't attempt to explain it to her. Every time she thinks she might, she realises that one day maybe eight years from now she'll be burying Nadia too.

It occurs to her then that it's been eight years since Sam, as well. Maybe there's a pattern there, she thinks, before carefully and deliberately burying the thought as deep as she possibly can.

During the day she smiles and shakes hands and helps the civil service understand the weirdness going on up on the Plateau. It's all so normal, so efficient, so stifling, and frankly when Lorelei next calls her for advice it's something of a relief.

The call comes at an inconvenient time. Emilia is on her way to a meeting with a senior secretary in the Home Office, who has been tasked with making sure that League regulations on eligibility for trainer grants are modified to be fully in line with the latest immigration laws. Emilia has seen the legislation, and knows full well that it boils down to giving less money out to kids who probably need it more than most; nevertheless, she will go and sit in front of a white man whose life this law will never touch and agree to see that it happens, because that is her job and the alternative is unthinkable. She walks to the offices rather than taking a cab, to clear her head and get into the right frame of mind, and halfway down the Old Palace Road she hears her phone go off in her bag.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Em. Lori." She sounds tired, and worried. Could just be asking for advice – but on the other hand, it could be something more. Something, maybe, that would get her out of this godawful meeting. Emilia feels petty and selfish for thinking it, but what the hell. Her partner's dying and she can't go a week without being called on to cover up outbreaks of cosmic horror. She's owed a break. "I have a question."

"Okay, Lori. Ask me, then."

"Someone tripped the sensors at the Oak Foundation earlier today. Talking about breach radiation. A scientist whose name I'm not even going to try to pronounce called it in. Didn't know what breach was, but it's in all their contracts to report it if it comes up."

"Okay," says Emilia, hitting the button at a crossing and waiting for the lights to change. "So have someone come down and investigate."

"Yeah, I know the protocol. But it's the kid from before. That Apanchomene girl. And honestly, after seeing two, possibly three breach events, I'm not sure she isn't justified in asking a question or two."

"Wait," says Emilia, scowling. "Three? Three events?"

Lorelei pauses.

"You didn't hear this," she says, "but the kid ran into a mutant scyther on the way down to Pallet. Nobody at the Foundation knows what to do with it; might be breach mutation, might not."

"A scyther? Is she all right?"

"Huh? Yeah, fine. It was very weak, she caught it and took it to the lab." (A weird little burst of second-hand pride.) "We didn't send anyone to contain it because the scientists basically explained it away by themselves. Evolutionary mishap, is the official verdict. The point is, I was going to send someone down to talk to her, but … I'm honestly not sure how to approach this." Lorelei sighs. "It's bad enough that this keeps happening, but it's even worse that it keeps happening to the _same person_. No one I've spoken to can tell me why. I'm starting to wonder if we shouldn't take her in for her own safety, but I don't want to ruin her trainer journey before it's even started."

Red light, green man. Emilia crosses through a haze of petrol fumes.

"That's definitely a delicate situation," she says, thinking fast. "Okay, Lori, here's what you do. You send me and Nadia to Pallet to have a chat with her. We get the measure of the situation, gently advise her not to do whatever digging she's doing, then regroup with you and decide where to go from there. How does that sound?"

"Like a solution." Lorelei chuckles. It's a little rueful, a little self-deprecating. The Elite Four job is hard, and having Emilia around to solve problems is a good thing, but Lorelei has never liked being reminded of her own limitations. Emilia has done her best to make her a little more open to asking for help over the years, and she's mostly succeeded, but that stubbornness lingers. "Thanks, Em. I don't know what we'd do without you."

"Hire another lawyer," replies Emilia, changing direction, heading for a taxi instead of the office. "Do you have a location for me?"

"She's checked in at the Pallet Pokémon Centre. How soon can you be there?"

"Soon as you like," she says. "Sooner if this cab will stop for me."

"You're a lifesaver. Let me know when you've spoken to her?"

"I will," says Emilia. "Talk to you later, Lori."

She hangs up and looks at Nadia, listening in on her shoulder.

"Make a note to reschedule that meeting with the secretary and assign it to Alex," she says, with a certain guilty satisfaction. "I think I'm going to be busy."

* * *

It's kind of strange, being out here on the open ocean. There's a thin sliver of land just visible to the north, but apart from that Artemis can see nothing but water, rolling on towards the horizon in every direction. It's pretty, especially now as the sun sets, but it's frightening too. All that space. That decisive lack of land, of enclosure, of buildings. Of anything that might stand for security and safety.

At times like this, she's acutely aware of how small her life has been. When she was little, her parents didn't often have the time or money for holidays, and her teenage years were disrupted by her two illnesses. She hasn't left Pewter for years, and the Kantan mainland ever. Now here she is on a boat out in the middle of the ocean, a tiny nothing against the vast totality of the world.

The thought occurs to her that she could jump off the ferry now and disappear forever. She lets it come, and then lets it go again as she has been taught, without trying to fight or worry about it. These things happen. It's okay.

"Weird, huh," she says to Brauron, clinging to her shoulder. "You seen the ocean before? Where were you even born, anyway?"

She's got Brauron's documentation somewhere in her bag, but that's back in the cabin and so she doesn't check it. Probably it doesn't matter. Alola or Kanto, she's here now, with Artemis. Something to hold onto in the middle of this huge, quiet emptiness.

The ferry is not quite as small as it looked from shore; Artemis isn't alone on the deck, even now as the sun starts to go down, but there's enough space that it almost feels that way. Cass is inside somewhere, and right now Artemis is sharing the deck with just a few others, all of whom she recognises from earlier. There aren't so many other passengers – fifteen, twenty at most. None of them are the man who came to the Pokémon Centre and who she is trying not to believe was following her.

It's interesting, really. At the same time that she feels alone in the emptiness, she is acutely aware that she is stuck on this tiny moving platform with just a few other people. This is a perfect setting for a murder mystery, right? A bunch of people, close proximity, no possible outside interference. Artemis half expects to wake up tomorrow to find out someone's been stabbed with an antique Chinese dagger or poisoned with the saliva of a rare South American toad.

Or, alternatively, to find a League agent watching her from the other end of the breakfast table.

She sighs and turns away from the view, Brauron crawling across her chest to stay out of the wind as she moves. It's time to go back indoors. Maybe if she talks to Cass instead of hanging around worrying she'll feel a little better.

Inside, the ferry is mostly corridor, with ten or twelve little cabins, and a common area with seating and a small bar. This last room is where Artemis finds Cass, throwing peanuts into the air and trying to catch them in her mouth. So far, she seems to have missed every time, although to be fair to her part of the problem is that Ringo keeps snatching them away out of the air.

"Damn it, Ringo, what did I _just_ say?" she says, as he steals another one. "Gimme a break here. Oh, hey Artemis. It's pretty nice out there, huh?"

"Yeah." Artemis sits down with her and deposits Brauron on the table, which she promptly claims as her territory by hissing at Ringo and chasing him back to Cass' shoulder. "Kind of weird. I've never been on a boat before."

"What, never?"

"Nope. First time."

"Well, it's kind of halfway between a hotel and a bus." Cass shrugs. "Not all that interesting, really."

That isn't really what Artemis meant, but okay.

"Yeah," she says. "Kinda. Want anything to eat? I'm gonna get something."

She's already eaten, so Artemis gets herself a sandwich at the bar and returns to find her still attempting the trick with the peanuts. The two of them eat, one of them less efficiently than the other, and talk about Cinnabar. What's it like, training at a Gym? Well, Cass didn't spend long training in Pewter but it's pretty cool, the Gym trainers all know a whole bunch of interesting battle tricks that you can use even if you don't train rock-types or whatever it is they specialise in.

"Besides, they don't just have their specialist pokémon, you know?" says Cass. "Like in Pewter this guy Edwin had a golem that's like his work pokémon, but he also had a togetic from his trainer journey, so he had some tips on how to train flying-types too. Tips that, uh, I kinda didn't really put into practice, but y'know, at least I _listened_ to them."

They keep chatting, discuss the pokémon that live on the slopes of Mt Catalayne – is it true that there are obsidian geodude and lava grimer up there on the volcano? Yes, as far as Artemis knows it is – and little by little, Artemis talks her fears back down into the hole deep inside her where they usually live. It's enough for now, and they do not come back until later that night, when she lies awake in the tiny cabin she shares with Cass, wondering if she's going to get off at Cinnabar and find League agents waiting for her at the docks.

There are ghost people tonight, horribly large inside the small space, bleeding and breathing and crowding around her bed like mourners around a grave, but it's all right; Artemis survives. She always does. She is a little worried at how much she has seen them recently, after six months in which she barely saw anything wrong at all, but still, they are an old problem and she knows how to deal with them. It's all right. It _is_.

She wakes early, limbs cramped from being forced into a bed a little too small to contain them, and slips into the equally tiny bathroom to fix her face before Cass wakes up. Brauron stirs sleepily at the sound of the tap, and Artemis takes her up on deck to watch the sun rising over the waves.

The two of them are utterly alone. Artemis knows, intellectually, that there must be someone driving the boat, but in the depth of the silence and the space, she cannot find it in herself to believe that this is true. She watches the dawn light spread in bloody fingers across the sky and water, and maybe her head's just in a better place than yesterday but she has to admit, it really is kinda beautiful.

Later, the other passengers begin to wake, and Cass emerges from the cabin with sleepy eyes and crumpled clothes, and the magic fades as the ferry fills up again with noise and motion, shifting from a dream back into real life. Artemis feeds Brauron ash pellets and bits of meat and waits for the ocean to give way to land.

Cinnabar is visible a long way off, the dun rise of the volcano looming on the horizon. It's bigger than Artemis was expecting, although she doesn't know why she thought it would be smaller; it is a _volcano_ , after all. The buildings of the town are clustered around its base on the east side, and then on the lower slopes are swathes of green that Artemis guesses must be the vineyards. Cinnabar isn't exactly Champagne or Bordeaux, but if you want home-grown Kantan wine that doesn't taste like feet, this is the place to get it. Above that, the vegetation thins out, and Mt Catalayne rises in dark, dull cliffs towards the sky.

She considers the effects of being caught in a volcanic eruption for a moment, and imagines a future archaeologist pouring plaster into the ash like they did at Pompeii, finding the hollow left in the earth by her corpse. Adult male, they would say, pulling the cast from the earth, examining its size and proportions. And then put it on display in the ruins of the Pokémon Centre for future tourists to see.

The thought makes her skin crawl. When she dies, Artemis is determined, she will be cremated. No bones left to betray her.

It takes a deceptively long time to actually arrive at Cinnabar: it's bigger than it looks, and further away. When at last they do, Cass and Artemis are among the first off, ready to get moving again after the day of inactivity. And the town is a pleasant place to walk around; it's small and pretty, full of brightly-coloured little houses and interesting old architecture. Fountains, a clock tower carved with legends, a thousand-year-old synagogue with a battered plaque proclaiming in Old Kantan that the King of Cinnabar has permitted the Jewish community to live by their own law in their quarter of the town. There's a lot to see here for such a small place, and Artemis and Cass only really glance at it in passing on the way to the Pokémon Centre. Artemis is actually kind of excited, despite her fears. This? This is what she was expecting from her trainer journey, not spires and blurred men, and okay so she has to do some investigating here but still, she can stay a few weeks and explore this place properly. See the sights that she read about online: the old buildings, the natural caves, the vineyards, the historic marketplace.

And, of course, train. Blaine's Gym is up on the slope of the volcano, brooding like a dragon in its mountain lair. Cinnabar's buildings are not tall, and from pretty much anywhere in town you can see it: a big columned knuckle of dark stone, looming over you. It's one of the old Gyms from way back when Kanto was first unified by what would become the League, and it was, up until Cinnabar was annexed, the last redoubt of the island's monarchs. Looking up at it, Artemis feels that it's very impressive, although probably also kind of a pain to get to every day if you work there. The road up there must be steep as hell.

But all of that is for another time: right now, Artemis just needs to get to the Centre and unpack a little. It's more popular than the one in Pallet – Cinnabar has a Gym, of course, and it's summer – and she and Cass are once again put together in a twin room, much to her relief. All of these places are built on the same plan, and that means the same bathroom layout as before. It was okay in Pallet, where nobody was using the bathrooms anyway and so Artemis could just sneak in by herself, but here she doesn't know what she'd do if they didn't have the en suite.

But they do, and that's good, so she just dumps her backpack and listens to Cass trying to decide what to do first.

"Like I don't think we can go train yet," she says. "By the time we get there it's gonna be past five and they'll be closed, so―"

Six thirty, thinks Artemis. They close at six thirty. But okay.

"―like I guess we could go do something else. Lotta old stuff in Cinnabar. And that lab where they do that Jurassic Park shit with fossils. Don't suppose you got a spare thirty thousand florins, huh?" Artemis shakes her head. "Oh, well. Woulda been cool to have a fossil 'mon. You know that meme of the omanyte holding a knife like a sword?" Artemis nods. "I love that thing. Mostly for the pun. Omaknight." Cass smiles as she says it. "Where was I? Oh yeah. So like what do _you_ wanna do?"

Artemis shrugs.

"I'm okay with whatever," she says. "It might be cool to have a walk up the volcano now the sun's gone down a bit. Not so hot out now, you know?"

"That is … a really good idea," says Cass, nodding. "I _knew_ there was a reason I was hanging out with you."

Artemis smiles, embarrassed.

"Um, okay. You ready to go, then? Maybe we'll find one of those obsidian geodude."

"That'd be cool," agrees Cass. "Okay, Ringo, ready to take your anger out on some poor defenceless wildlife?"

He absolutely is, and off they go. It's a very short walk from the Centre out of town, and within ten minutes the neat little houses have given way to steep, stony fields rising up on either side of a winding footpath. Ahead, Mt Catalayne rises in a series of bumps and lumps; off to the north, Artemis can just see a line of green over the edge of the hill that must be one of the vineyards. It's strange, really. This is all so … rural. Pallet was a small town, but that was just a suburb of Viridian, really, and Artemis knows suburbs. Cinnabar, though, is something else. Tiny buildings. Green spaces everywhere. Artemis has only seen Greece in photographs stumbled across online while searching for information about classical mythology, but she feels like this is what it must look like. Sun, wine, gnarled old olive trees. Kanto's own little slice of the Mediterranean.

Crickets whirring. The thin song of a black Kantan finch. The industrious sounds of the town below. It's peaceful, Artemis will give it that. She climbs the hill, watching Ringo fly on ahead from branch to rock to branch again, and despite herself she feels her shoulders untense. Maybe Giovanni and his team _were_ doing something bad out here, but even so, this place is lovely.

Brauron seems to agree. She stretches herself out across Artemis' shoulders in the sunlight, tail markings glowing with contentment. Her presence gives Artemis a slightly giddy feeling of pleasure: her partner's happy, and she's responsible, and how amazing is it that she is actually capable of looking after another living thing like that? All this time Artemis thought she could barely look after herself, and now this. Of course, part of the point of a trainer journey is learning about that kind of thing, taking on responsibilities and expanding your capabilities, but somehow Artemis has always thought that that wouldn't apply to her. She supposes that was probably just the depression talking.

A couple of rabbits jump up at their approach and bolt across the path; powder-blue butterflies alight on the flowering clover. Cass breathes in deeply next to her and sighs.

"Man," she says. "Good call on taking a walk, Artemis. This is great."

Artemis is not very good at taking compliments, but she mutters something that might be thanks and Cass seems to get the picture. For a few minutes, they walk on in an awkward silence, and then Cass points at something over the hill to the south.

"Look at that," she says. "Some kinda mansion."

Artemis follows her finger and sees the husk of a huge old house, windows broken or boarded up, surrounded by a tall wire fence.

"Yeah," she says. "Guess so." She frowns. "Is that razor wire?"

"Huh?"

"There. On the fence."

Cass squints.

"Looks like it," she says. "That's weird. Maybe people break in a lot?"

Artemis looks at the house, thinking.

I haven't forgotten about Cinnabar, Giovanni said.

"Yeah," she says, as the first fearful stirrings of belief rise inside her. "Maybe."

* * *

It's not a bad walk, even after that. They find a few wild pokémon, some grey-furred rock nidoran that hide among the stones and a spectacular royal pidgeot whose crest is a riot of glittering colour in the afternoon light; Cass makes a half-hearted attempt to catch that one, but it's too strong for her and it knows it, refusing even to let her try to fight it.

"Oh well," she says, as it flies off up the mountainside. "Probably for the best."

When the light starts to fade, they turn at the top of a ridge and make their way back, down towards the town below. The view is spectacular, even now: you can see the whole of the west half of the island, and the sea beyond it on all sides. Cass and Artemis walk down into the midst of it all and carry the view with them as they go, a charged memory that lingers in the mind like the midday heat in the sun-baked earth.

Then they're back at the Centre, and Artemis sits down at the computer to Google _abandoned mansion cinnabar island_. And she reads without much surprise that Cinnabar House, as it's known, has been abandoned for over fifty years and that no one has yet done anything about it because there's some legal complications with the land it's on and nobody has worked out yet who's owned it.

Abandoned for over fifty years. And yet – a twelve-foot fence with razor wire.

If you were investigating breach, where would you do it? Somewhere out of the way, right? Somewhere out in the middle of nowhere, on a tiny island with one tiny town, in a crumbling old house that nobody ever visits. Somewhere you could contain a situation.

Because there _was_ a situation, wasn't there? Giovanni pretty much confirmed it in that phone call she overheard. Something happened, right here on Cinnabar. Artemis moves Brauron off the keyboard, which she has decided to sit on now that Artemis is no longer poking it, and clicks through any mentions of Cinnabar House in the news. There aren't many, but she gets one, an old _Cataphract_ article from ten years ago, that mentions gunshots and crashes heard from the house at night and a subsequent investigation that showed a second-floor window had been broken from the inside. Nothing else was ever found.

Artemis knows all about terrible things that wreak havoc and then disappear into thin air. So does the author of the article, apparently, one Mark Trelawney; he goes on to present evidence gathered from speaking to Cinnabar residents, reports of a strange light seen flying away over the town and unusual nightmares consistent with tremendous upheaval on the psychic plane somewhere nearby. He doesn't say the word breach, and perhaps doesn't even know that that's the word he needs, but he was damn sure that something more happened that night in Cinnabar House than the official investigation let on.

Brauron puts one forefoot on her arm, head tilted at a questioning angle.

"Is it that obvious, huh?" asks Artemis, picking her up. "Yeah, I'm …" She doesn't finish. She can't. She can barely even _think_ it, let alone say it. "I think we might have to do something scary," she says instead. Slowly. Carefully. "Worse than the last scary thing we did." She pauses. Brauron looks at her with earnest purple eyes. "Maybe we don't think about that just yet," says Artemis, her nerve failing her. "Maybe it's just time we found Cass and Ringo and got something to eat."

She closes the browser and is about to log out of the computer when she hesitates and goes back to clear her history, just in case. You never know, after all. And not knowing is the root of all suspicion. Not knowing is what drives her again and again to libraries and the internet, seeking relief in facts, in Latin names and photographs and cartography. Not knowing is what makes the ghost people as frightening as they are, and the spire, and Giovanni.

And it is not knowing that makes Artemis slip quietly out of bed that night, a little after one o'clock when she's sure that Cass is asleep. She dresses – in jeans, for the first time since leaving home, for practicality – and collects Brauron, with a finger to her lips to forestall any hissing or croaking. She glances quickly back at Cass, still and quiet in her bed, and then she slips out of the door and down the hall.

It isn't the last of the not knowing that night. There is more, and it will come back to bite her. But for now, Artemis continues in her ignorance, down the hall to the (mercifully empty) bathroom, where she can put the light on and make a few quick adjustments to her face. It's for her own benefit really – if anyone sees her face tonight, she's going to have more than dysphoria to worry about – but still, she doesn't want to go out unready. She considers recalling Brauron to her ball, the better to go unnoticed in the lobby, but if she's honest she stands out enough that even without such a distinctive pokémon there isn't much chance that the receptionist on duty won't notice her. She walks out as casually as she can, into the warm air and cool breeze of a summer night in Cinnabar, and heads out of town up the side of the volcano.

It's a beautiful night. Dark, clear, moonlit; perfumed with wild flowers and soundtracked by the whirrs and chirps of bugs and birds. Below her and behind, the town is a shadowscape in black and indigo. Above and ahead, the volcano is huge and silent, like a sleeping giant silhouetted against the stars.

"Nice night," Artemis remarks to Brauron, whispering partly out of misplaced fear and partly because it's that kind of night, where everything is too calm and quiet to ruin with a raised voice. She's only ever experienced a couple of these before. Pewter is a city, loud and sleepless, and Greyside isn't a particularly peaceful part of town. This is very different: kind of eerie, kind of wonderful.

She checks the route again on her phone: right at the signpost, down the trail across the hill. It's not far, really – nowhere is, here – and in fact she'd like it to be a little further, so she can put off the moment of arriving. At least the approach is mostly over open ground. Someone _could_ be hiding in the shadows of that olive grove, she supposes, and as soon as she thinks that she becomes convinced that every single shadow must be hiding someone watching and almost turns back right then. But Brauron's there, a warm and comforting weight on her arm, and anyway this is the only plan she's got, so after stopping and breathing a little she carries on down the slope towards Cinnabar House.

And then, all too soon, she's there. There are no lights, and the moon picks out nothing more than general details: the edge of a roof, the pediment above a door. The bladed edge of the razor wire.

"Okay," whispers Artemis. "Okay."

It isn't okay, at all actually, but she's out of options. She makes her final preparations, raising her hood and tugging her scarf up over her face, then follows the last few feet of trail down to the coastal road that leads back round to town. She could follow this up to the driveway, but she's absolutely sure that the main gates will be overlooked by CCTV, so she instead crosses the road and follows the fence around to the back of the house. It's an ugly thing really, that fence. Nobody has tried to mask it with trees or shrubs, probably in case someone uses them to try and climb over. It looks out of place. Like a ghost person.

Artemis wishes she hadn't thought of that.

At the back of the house, she stops and takes stock of the situation. No cameras that she can see, although of course she can't see anything at all, so that's not necessarily all that helpful. No other gates or gaps in the fence. But – more shadows, and hidden from the road by the bulk of the old house itself. That's going to have to do.

"Okay, kiddo," she whispers. "Time to find out how well you really understand me, huh?" She points up at the fence. "See that wire? I need it out of the way."

Brauron follows her finger with her eyes.

"Yeah?" asks Artemis. "You got it?"

No response. She holds Brauron up to the fence until she gets that she's supposed to grab onto it, and then lets go.

Nothing. Brauron hangs there like a gecko on a wall and watches her with her usual equanimity.

"Come on," whispers Artemis. "Please, Brauron. I need you to deal with the razor wire. _That_ stuff, up there. Melt it, cut it, whatever. Can you do that? Please?" Still nothing. Artemis curls her fingers into claws and mimes slashing, and this seems to have at least some kind of an effect: Brauron climbs up the fence and scratches experimentally at a coil of wire. "Yes!" hisses Artemis. "Break it!"

Brauron tries to cut it again, but her claws are not that sharp, and she doesn't know any moves that might do the trick. She hisses and bites it instead, and Artemis hears a faint sizzle as her corrosive saliva goes to work on the metal. A moment later, the coil snaps and falls away past her in ragged loops, burnt right the way through. Brauron spits out a lump of tarnished metal and looks back at Artemis, eyes questioning.

"Yeah! That's it, that's _exactly_ it. Okay, now if you just wait, I gotta get up there with you …"

Artemis is not much of a climber. She doesn't really have the build for it, in any case: there's too much of her to pull up, too much muscle and fat and bone dragging her back down towards the ground. And her big, clumsy hands and feet don't fit well into the gaps between each link in the fence. Still, she's strong and she's persistent, and though she doesn't get up there quickly or easily she does make it, after a couple of minutes of grunting and sweating. Long enough to regret wearing a hoodie and scarf in summer, certainly. At the top, there's now a gap in the wire just large enough for her to squeeze through, although she tears her sleeve on the blades getting through, and then she drops awkwardly down to the other side.

"Ow," she mutters, landing badly and falling over. "Oof."

Brauron crawls headfirst down the fence and peers at her with interest. Artemis picks herself up and sighs.

"Yeah, okay, no need to rub it in," she says. "C'mere, you. Well done."

Brauron leans into her hand eagerly to get her head rubbed, and Artemis is happy to oblige, although she has to be careful not to touch the splashes of acid around her mouth.

"Okay," she whispers. "More of that later, all right? Now … now we gotta do the scary bit."

Brauron doesn't quite see why she can't just continue getting petted all night, but after a while she does settle back down on Artemis' chest, and Artemis can turn her attention towards the house itself. Not that she wants to, particularly – here in its shadow, her heart is pounding against her breastbone like a blacksmith on an anvil – but, well, she's already past the fence now, hasn't she? By anyone's standards, she's pretty bloody committed.

Breathe, Artie. Breathe, and walk slowly, and get round to the side.

Most of the pictures of Cinnabar House are from the same angle: the front and to the right, to get in both the striking old façade and the dramatic rise of Mt Catalayne behind it. In every single one, Artemis noticed, the first ground-floor side window isn't properly blocked up: just a couple of old wooden boards nailed across the gap. Probably there used to be more, but if there were then they rotted or fell off years ago.

Which means, and Artemis is trying very hard not to think too much about the fact that this is something she actually plans to do, that this is probably the easiest place to break in.

She creeps quietly along, sticking close to the wall. Her boots seem to crunch the dirt like gravel, impossibly loud. Seconds pass. The night-birds call.

Her outstretched hand touches old, dry wood, and Artemis sighs in relief.

Okay. This is it. She tugs on a plank, and feels it give. Interesting: she was planning on having Brauron burn her way in, but if she could do it herself, that might leave fewer clues. Salandit fire's distinctive, right? All that poison. And if she pulls her sleeve over her hand, she won't leave prints. All right, it'll make a noise, but honestly it won't be any more noticeable than a sudden burst of bright green fire, so …

Artemis shuts her eyes for a moment. She's doing this, isn't she? She's breaking into what might be a front for a secret League operation, based on nothing except a hunch and without knowing a single goddamn thing about it. If you asked her to make a list of the worst decisions of her life, there aren't many that could top this one. What if the place is full of League people? And what is she planning to do if she _does_ find anything? What is even the point of all this?

But it's not knowing, as it always is; it's not knowing, it's doubting, that vicious biting suspicion that drives you to do regrettable things, and Artemis has no choice. She tugs her torn sleeve down over her fingers, grabs the board, and pulls.

The wood is old and weather-worn, and it splinters almost at a touch. It is loud, yes, but not nearly as loud as Artemis was afraid it would be, and, emboldened, she moves on to the next right away. This one is tougher, but after a good kicking it gives way easily enough. Behind them, the window is a glassless void, and before she has a chance to think twice Artemis forces herself up and through into the house itself.

Her boots hit the floorboards and crunch on broken glass. She stands there, still and silent, listening for anything at all – but there's nothing.

She's in.

* * *

No alarms, no rushing footsteps. No lasers or gunshots or lurking pokémon. Nothing at all except Artemis and the relentless thudding of her heart.

Eventually, she has to start breathing again or pass out from lack of oxygen, and then she forces herself to untense her shoulders and look down at Brauron.

Okay?

Okay.

"All right," she says, so quietly she isn't even sure she can hear herself. "All right, kiddo, that's phase one."

She takes her torch from her pocket and grips it firmly, though she doesn't dare turn it on just yet, not with the open window right there. There's just enough moonlight for her to see that she's in a wide, empty room, where there is a closed door and not much else. No furniture, no signs of habitation at all. Figures. Artemis suspects that none of the rooms you can see into from outside will look anything other than deserted.

The door is not locked. She opens it (covering her hand with her sleeve again) and steps into a long, dark corridor. No moonlight here, which means no one outside can see, so after closing the door again she clicks the torch on. She flicks the beam back and forth, and sees nothing but dry boards and mouldering carpet from whose threadbare pile dozens of little black beetles run when the light touches them. The movement makes Artemis tense up, but only for a moment. Bugs don't really bother her, except for the fear of accidentally crushing them.

"All right," she murmurs, and begins poking around.

Trusting her hunch that the outer rooms will all be empty, on the ground floor at least, Artemis creeps left into the main hall. The torchlight picks out two figures and for a second she flinches – but they're just statues, worn stone kangaskhan flanking the staircase up to the first floor. She keeps breathing and moves the torch across the room, over a once-red rug and fluted pillars supporting the upper level. The rug is worth a second look: no footprints, no place where the dust has been trodden away to reveal the red fabric beneath. No one's come here for a while. The only motes swirling in the beam of her torch are those she kicked up herself.

Maybe they shut this place down after whatever it was that happened ten years ago. Or maybe they don't come in through the front door. That's an option too, of course. A place like this, Artemis wouldn't be surprised if it was riddled with secret passages, although maybe that's only in movies. Either way, the thing about secret passages is that they're secret, so if there are any Artemis is probably not going to find them. She puts the thought out of her mind and tests the stairs with one foot. They creak, but they don't collapse. It will have to do.

Up, then, sticking close to the bannister where the boards will creak less. Her sleeve brushes the rail and carves shiny mahogany trails in the dust.

Brauron sneezes and Artemis almost falls off the stairs at the sudden noise.

"Oh god," she says, almost forgetting to whisper. "Oh god, you scared the shit out of me."

Brauron looks at her inquisitively, and Artemis sighs.

"Okay, I can't be mad at you. Just don't … well, I'll try not to raise any more dust."

Several steps and many heart-stopping creaks later, she reaches the landing, and another corridor. The dust here is still thick, but something seems off. Artemis stares, trying to figure it out, and then she gets it: the doors all have modern handles, instead of the antique knobs from downstairs. Someone fitted these with locks this century.

A little chill runs down her spine. Gunshots and crashes, and a mysterious flying creature. And new locks on all the doors. Does she even _want_ to know what happened here? Really, honestly – no. But. No choice. So. Artemis makes herself breathe, and starts trying doors.

These rooms have furniture: beds, desks, dressers. Heavy curtains that are very thick with dust but not rotting – new, then, or at least not as old as the carpets. Artemis wonders how you might hide that you had staff here in a supposedly abandoned house, how you'd conceal movement behind the boards on the windows, and has to admit that curtains would be a pretty simple solution. She holds her torch up and opens a few drawers and cupboards; most are empty, but some have moth-eaten clothes or yellowed documents. Artemis does skim a couple, but doesn't understand them – someone's accounts, someone else's notes about nucleotides, whatever those are. Nothing as helpful as a signed confession to researching breach, although Artemis supposes that would be a bit much to hope for.

What she can tell is that whoever was staying here left in a hurry, if the clothes are anything to go by. Other than that, the bedrooms don't betray much about their owners. After the fifth room turns up nothing but an empty desk, Artemis is ready to give up and search elsewhere when Brauron suddenly hisses and clambers down her arm.

"Huh? What's up?"

Brauron moves her head back and forth, sniffing or staring or whatever it is that salandit do, and then slithers through her hand onto the desk, feet and belly leaving trails in the dust. She puts her eye to the gap between the desk and the wall, and then looks back over her shoulder at Artemis, croaking triumphantly.

"Something down the back?" she asks. "Let me see …"

Artemis shines the torch down the back and sees – something, she's not sure what, but something thin wedged between desk and wall. There's no way she'll fit her hand down there to get it, though, so after thirty seconds or so of agonised indecision she makes up her mind to move the desk. It's going to be noisy, yes, and there's a good chance that whatever's down the back of it is going to be garbage like everything else – but if she doesn't get it she won't know, and she can't leave without some kind of clue. Not after all this, not after actually _breaking and entering_ and everything else she's had to do to get here. No, Artemis has to try, because if she doesn't even try then what's the point of her, right, and so she crouches down and grips the desk and with a creak and grinding scrape loud enough to wake the dead she hauls it a few inches out of position.

Pause. Jump away from it, sick and shivery with fear, light-headed, tight-chested. Listen, straining against the silence―

Nothing. No footsteps, no voices, no alarms or sirens.

Artemis clenches her fists very tightly, doubles over a little with the effort of suppressing it all. She wants to cry, and it's more than the dust in her eyes. What is she even doing here? She isn't meant for this, isn't meant for anything at all other than a tiny little life in a tiny little corner of Pewter, four walls around her, expectations on her back and her old name like an albatross around her neck.

Brauron touches her hand and Artemis jumps halfway across the room, an ugly ragged gasping noise tearing loose from her throat. The little salandit stares at her from the desk, alarmed, and Artemis blinks back tears.

"Sorry," she says, wiping her eyes. "I'm sorry, I just … I'm not good at this." She sniffs, feeling the ugliness of her emotion, and reaches out to Brauron on the desk. "Here," she says. "You can hop on whenever you like."

Brauron watches her for a moment longer, violet eyes clouded with some amphibian thought that Artemis cannot name, and then, moving very slowly, she climbs back up her arm onto her shoulder.

"Trying not to scare me?" Artemis tries for a smile and just about succeeds. "'S okay, Brauron, I'm … I dunno, but I'm not gonna do that again." She rubs Brauron's head gently, feels the warmth beneath her fingers. "Okay. Okay, let's see what we got then, huh?"

She straightens up and goes to check behind the desk. On the floor, splayed half-open against the wall, is a book.

Artemis has a bad feeling about this. But she has a bad feeling about most things, so she swallows it and picks the book up instead.

 _Property of M. Fuji_ , reads a note on the inside front cover. And then, on the first page: _5_ _th_ _August 2006. I've decided to accept the League post. I know, it's a long way from Lavender, but it'll be nice to revisit my old stomping grounds, and honestly in the end I really can't turn down the chance to be a part of such a fascinating project. I just hope that my journalling doesn't suffer too much. Much of what I'll be working on is so highly classified that …_

A diary. A diary belonging to someone who worked here on whatever project was―

In the stillness of the night, the engine of the car pulling up outside is as loud and threatening as the roar of an aggron.

* * *

Emilia feels a little guilty about thinking it, but Cinnabar is so damn provincial. Yes, it's pretty, yes it has history, but do you know what it doesn't have? An airport. Not even a little airstrip where you can land a light plane. When she hears from the staff at the Pallet Pokémon Centre that Artemis and the girl she's travelling with have already moved on to Cinnabar, Emilia is not best pleased. Inactivity doesn't suit her; she likes to be in motion at all times, to be _doing_. A twenty-hour ferry ride isn't her idea of a good time.

Still, there's no other way out there – Nadia _can_ teleport, technically, but she's not that strong and there's only one of her and these things together mean her effective range is limited to a few dozen metres – so she bites back her irritation and buys the ticket instead. While she's hanging around the ferry terminal, sending emails from her phone in a bid to make this null time productive, Lorelei calls. They don't talk long – Emilia reports that Artemis has gone on to Cinnabar, and Lorelei gets slightly wistful for her childhood in the Sevii Islands before asking for an update when she's done – and afterwards it's time to board, an activity Emilia undertakes with the grim determination of a woman who knows she will be horribly seasick before the hour is out.

The best thing that Emilia can say about the ferry ride is that, eventually, it ends. She spends most of it in her cabin, staring at the wall and swallowing, out of phone signal and so without any possible way to distract herself from the nausea that rises afresh in her throat with every slight shift of the ship on the water, and then practically sprints out onto the dock the second the passengers are allowed out. For a few minutes she stands there, breathing heavily and luxuriating in the way the concrete doesn't roll beneath her feet, and then she hurries on through the night towards the Pokémon Centre. It's late – three in the morning kind of late – but there's always someone on duty, and Emilia wants to make sure she doesn't lose track of Artemis again before she finds a hotel and gets some sleep.

Cinnabar is very pretty even at this hour. Emilia notices the scale of things, how small they all are and how neat, and has to admit that the place has its charms. They aren't charms worth the pain of the ferry trip, but they _are_ charms.

It still smells of the ocean, though, and Emilia is thankful for the air-conditioned interior of the Pokémon Centre, which smells of antiseptic instead of brine and is much more to her taste.

"Hello," she says, to the bored-looking man at the desk. "I'm looking for Artemis Apanchomene. I think she should be staying here?"

"Okay," he replies. "Uh, who are you, exactly?"

"Emilia Santangelo, Indigo League," she replies. "This is Nadia, my partner."

Nadia chirps, and out comes the card. His eyes lock onto it with that familiar mixture of fascination and alarm.

"League business, huh," he says.

"League business," confirms Emilia.

Pause. Emilia sighs.

"Look," she says. "I don't want to wake her or anything, I'd just like to know if she's here. If she is, perhaps you could let her know in the morning that I wanted to speak to her?"

"Okay," says the man. "Okay, I guess I can do that. Let me pull up her record and see … is this who you're looking for?" He twists his computer screen around for her to see Artemis' League file, the digital companion piece to her trainer card. Emilia nods. "In that case, I think she's actually up and about," he continues. "I saw her go out a couple of hours ago."

 _HOUSE_ , says Nadia, at the exact same moment as Emilia's heart skips a beat. Artemis, sneaking out in the middle of the night on Cinnabar Island? All right, so she might want to find some nocturnal pokémon – but she might not. She might want something else. If she's been asking questions – and if she somehow stumbled on the M entity – and if she saw Cinnabar House earlier today …

"You're sure about that?" asks Emilia, keeping her face carefully blank. The receptionist nods.

"Sure," he says. "She's the only person I've seen go in or out tonight. I remember thinking she was dressed kinda heavily for this heat."

"Really," says Emilia. "How do you mean?"

"Well." The man looks a little wary. "Uh, you know, it's not really hoodie weather, and―"

 _HIDING_ , suggests Nadia, and Emilia has to agree.

"―you know, it seemed sorta odd."

"Indeed," agrees Emilia. "How strange. Well, thank you for your time. If she comes back, could you let her know I was asking after her?"

"Sure," says the man. "Sure, I can do that."

"Thanks. Goodnight."

Out in the street, Emilia starts dialling frantically.

"Hello? Hello, this is Emilia Santangelo, with the League. I'd― yes. Yes, actually, I _am_ calling about that. Where? Okay. Okay, thank you. I'll be with you shortly. Yes, I'm in Cinnabar now. No, that's fine, thank you. I'll be there soon. Goodbye."

She hangs up and shoves her phone roughly into her bag. Somewhere very deep inside her, underneath the politeness and the reserve, under the calculated fabric of her persona, a fire begins to burn. She was right. She'd hoped she wasn't, that somehow that Artemis would have got away with it, but she was right.

"Okay, Nadia," she says, in a low voice a hair's breadth away from a growl. "I guess we're going to the police station."


	10. 0A: Difficult Conversations

**0A: DIFFICULT CONVERSATIONS**

There was nothing in the police car. Which is to say that there was Artemis and the cops and nothing else, a yawning absence with all the heaviness and weight of a ghost person in the seat next to her, and Artemis remembered what it was like before in the bad old days when the ghost people were in her, _were_ her, when her voice and theirs were intertwined like the innards of an elaborate lock, and she trembled in the emptiness and wished for Brauron. But there was no Brauron. Just a poké ball, in the jacket pocket of the left-hand policeman. And an absence, and the thought: _you are functional. Everything else is weakness._

The thought and the absence stayed there for far too long. Artemis sat there in silence as the cops drove her down to the station, on the verge of throwing up, wishing senselessly for sharp objects, pulse thumping dizzyingly in her temples. She sat there, and because she had no other options she made it out the other side, and now here she is, sitting in this windowless little room where the light is yellow and trying hard to hear the questions that she is asked.

She is not good at being interrogated. The cops' eyes unmake her, slice unmercifully through the scraps of womanhood she has gathered around herself. She sees shapes (ghost people?) in the corners, there and then not. She fails to answer questions and is shouted at. At one point someone bangs on the table to get her attention and she cannot help it, she cries.

Then something changes. Then the door bursts open and Artemis looks up to see, of all things, a familiar face: dark skin, perfect lipstick, enviable eyebrows. It is, she realises, that League lawyer, Emilia Santangelo. And Emilia looks back at her, eyes suddenly full of a volcanic fury that to her astonishment Artemis does not think is directed at her, and then she says something and in the next moment all the cops are gone and Emilia is sitting down opposite her, alone.

"Hello, Artemis," says Emilia.

Artemis doesn't say anything.

"Are you okay?"

Artemis shakes her head.

"I didn't think so." A silence. Emilia's natu shuffles slightly on her shoulder. "They're going to let you go immediately."

Artemis still can't find her voice, but her surprise must show, because Emilia smiles without pleasure and nods.

"Oh, they don't know it yet," she says. "But I'll go back out there in a minute and ask them to do it, and they'll say no, and I'll remind them of how hazardous to their career interfering in League business can be, and then they'll moan and whine about how the League is a meddling old fossil but they'll do it."

"Why?" asks Artemis. It's just one word. It's not too hard to get out.

There is a short pause, and then something about Emilia seems to shift; she looks tired, human even, as if all her grace and poise has drained away in an instant.

"Okay, I'll level with you," she says, in a completely different voice, rougher and more casual. Not unlike Artemis' own, albeit with a south Celadon tint. "You've got enough shit to deal with already, Artemis. Believe me, I know."

Artemis wants to say _no, you don't_ , because how can Emilia know _this_ , how can this conventionally attractive cis woman know what _this_ is, but she doesn't have the courage to tell her that and she isn't even sure if it's true and so she just says:

"Do you?"

And Emilia says, "Yes, Artemis. I do."

Artemis stares. Emilia put a very deliberate emphasis on that. Surely she can't mean …?

"But you …" But you what? But you're beautiful? But you're still alive at the tail end of your thirties? But you're a successful professional? How deep does your hatred go, Artie, that you can think any of that? There is nothing strange about a trans woman being any of these things. And yet, choked by her own self-image, by the hate that she knows is out there waiting for her, Artemis cannot help but be shocked.

Emilia seems to understand. She looks resigned rather than insulted.

"Sorry," says Artemis, almost whines really, and Emilia shakes her head.

"It's okay," she replies. " _I'm_ sorry, Artemis. For everything." She sighs. "Look, now isn't really the time to talk, I get it. We do need to talk about what you did, and what you think you know, but not now. All I'm going to do tonight is go out and get them to release you, then I'll walk you back to the Centre. Is that okay by you?"

It is okay. More than okay, it's kind, and Artemis wasn't expecting that – wasn't expecting any of this, of course, but this least of all. How much does Emilia know about her? Or is her fear really that obvious?

"Yeah," she replies. "Yeah, that's … that's okay."

"Good." Emilia smiles and stands up, and just like that she's back to her usual self, bright and polished as a gemstone. "I'll be back in a minute."

She leaves the room. Without her, the room is quiet and oppressive, the light buzzing dully in the back of her head, but Artemis does her best to take advantage of the break and get her head together. She wipes her eyes, crushing mascara into the back of her hand, and sniffs deeply, trying to clear her nose. Okay, Artie? No, actually, very not okay. She just got arrested trying to break into a League installation, and maybe the cops knew what happened at Cinnabar House and maybe they didn't, but either way, they knew it was somewhere important, somewhere nobody was ever supposed to get into. Though Artemis has never been the kind of kid who breaks into abandoned houses to explore, she doesn't think they get interrogated like this. The cops suspected her of something, and that was – is – terrifying. So no, she isn't okay. But it seems like Emilia is going to make it disappear, and whatever her real reasons for doing so, that's a good thing.

Just then, Emilia comes back in, holding the diary and Brauron's poké ball.

"They were very accommodating," she says. "All I had to do was ask and they gave me your stuff back, right away."

Artemis swallows. She told the cops that the diary was hers, hoping they wouldn't actually look inside it. Presumably, Emilia hasn't checked either.

"Thanks," she says, taking it and the ball, a little too fast. "I … can I go?"

"Of course. Come with me."

There is a gauntlet of hostile stares to run – just as she hinted, Emilia has made enemies here tonight – but after that comes the freshness of the night air, and as she breathes it in Artemis feels her heart finally start to slow down. God. It's over. She's out, and she got away with it.

"I expect you're glad to get out," says Emilia. "I always was. Come on, it's this way back to the Centre."

Artemis wonders what that means. It's hard to imagine that Emilia has ever been arrested before. She isn't brave enough to ask about it, so instead she releases Brauron and immediately has to focus on calming her down; she climbs up over Artemis' chest, hissing anxiously and staring into her face as if making sure she's still there.

"It's okay," says Artemis. "It's okay, I'm all right." She strokes Brauron's neck until she stops wriggling, then hugs her gently to her chest. "We're gonna go back to the Centre now," she continues. "It's all over."

Emilia watches with an expression Artemis doesn't recognise. Some strange kind of pain.

"You two have really got on well, haven't you?" she remarks. "It's only been a couple of weeks since you partnered up."

"Oh," says Artemis, embarrassed. "Um, thanks."

Emilia smiles, but her heart clearly isn't in it.

"Come on," she says. "It's not far. Nothing is, here."

Silence then, except for the waves and the crickets and the clicking of Emilia's heels on the pavement. Artemis feels a sudden stab of jealousy, wishing she could pass as cis the way Emilia does, and then just as suddenly a rush of guilt. She should like what she is. Be proud of it, even. It's just hard, when nobody ever seems to be anything other than disgusted by it. Even if they're like Cass, even if they accept her, she can tell that underneath it they are fighting their unease.

The lights of the Centre come into view ahead, beneath the shadow of the big revolving sign, and Emilia starts to speak again.

"Well, here we are," she says. "Now, I'm sorry, but we have to talk about what … well, about everything. So – meet me in the Centre lobby at eleven tomorrow morning? That will give you a chance to get some sleep."

"Yeah," says Artemis, not seeing any other way options. "Yeah, I guess that's okay."

"Don't worry, you're not in any trouble," Emilia reassures her. "And as far as I can, I'm going to make sure everyone forgets what happens tonight. All right?"

She smiles. Despite herself, Artemis thinks it's genuine.

"Yeah," she says. "Okay." Pause. "Well, goodnight."

"Yes. Goodnight."

Artemis is about to go inside when Emilia calls after her.

"Oh – one more thing," she says. "Did you tell anyone where you were going tonight?"

"Huh? No. No, I didn't."

"That's interesting," says Emilia. "Because the police only drove out to Cinnabar House because they received a tip-off that someone was breaking in." She raises her eyebrows significantly. "Be careful," she says. "Goodnight, Artemis."

"Um … goodnight."

Emilia disappears into the night, and Artemis hovers there in the doorway, uncertain and afraid.

Someone tipped off the cops. Someone _knew_.

Artemis shivers and hurries on inside. The night does not seem so beautiful any more.

* * *

 _Believe me, I know_. Emilia said that. She did. She admitted it, for the first time in … god only knows how long. All right, she couldn't bring herself to actually say the word and apply it to herself, and that is not a good thing, but she admitted it, indirectly.

It feels good, in its own way. Sometimes you don't realise how much the constant secrecy hurts until you break it. Emilia still isn't planning to announce what she is to the world at large, but someone knows now, someone who can be trusted with that information, and that's surprisingly comforting.

Not that there's much comfort to be got out of any of this. Emilia isn't sure she's ever seen anyone look quite as scared as Artemis did last night, and she's met with a lot of people who have seen some pretty terrifying things. Possibly Artemis has anxiety, although in this case Emilia can't say it isn't justified. There are bad things gathering around her, and if Emilia's hunch is right she's only just started transitioning, too. That's more than anyone should have to deal with at once.

Still. Hopefully Emilia can help lighten the load a little with this next meeting, and as she heads out from her hotel to the Pokémon Centre that morning she runs over potential ways to do so in her head: information that can safely be divulged, assurances that she could make. Some of this might not strictly be within her job description, or for that matter the bounds of the law, but what the hell, she's in a position of power and she's damned if she's not going to make use of that to help someone who isn't. It's not like the League can fire her. She's too useful for that.

She arrives early, as usual, but Artemis is already waiting for her, sitting in a corner and fiddling with her phone. Shoulders hunched, head down, shame at her size written all over her. Emilia feels depressed and angry to see it.

 _?_ asks Nadia, but Emilia can't explain this even to other humans, let alone to a natu, and anyway she doesn't get the chance because Artemis sees her and gets up quickly, apparently eager to be away.

"Good morning," says Emilia, with perfectly convincing cheerfulness. "How are you doing?"

"I'm okay," replies Artemis, although she does not look it. Her salandit picks up on this too, and glares at Emilia with vivid purple eyes.

It's to be expected, really. Emilia was probably intimidating before, and now that Artemis knows she's trans she's probably even more so, in some ways.

"Okay, good," she says. "Have you eaten? No? In which case, let's have brunch. I saw somewhere that looked really quite good on the way here."

Artemis looks uncertain.

"Um … well, I don't―"

"I'm paying, by the way," says Emilia, as if her concern were not obvious. "League grants aren't so generous these days, are they? I got fifteen hundred florins, but I can't imagine you got more than half that."

"Uh. No. No, I didn't."

Of course she didn't. Emilia hides her irritation at League policy behind a smile and gestures to the door.

"Shall we, then?" she asks. "We've got quite a lot to talk about. Best to make a start right away."

"Okay," says Artemis, and off they go.

Cue about thirty seconds of uncomfortable silence, during which Emilia starts to wonder if she really is that scary.

"So how's your trainer journey going?" she asks.

"Okay," says Artemis. "Except for … well."

Emilia sighs.

"All right," she says. "I suppose I should have seen that one coming. But it's what I'm here to talk about. If I can, I want to get this sorted out."

Artemis' eyes betray a certain wary kind of hope that makes Emilia feel her age.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," confirms Emilia. "You're not alone, Artemis. The League has your back."

"Okay," she says. Emilia doesn't think she quite believes her. Under the circumstances, she really can't blame her.

The café Emilia saw earlier is on the corner of an open plaza, and has a few cute wrought-iron tables out in the square itself. Emilia suggests they sit out here, thinking in part about the gorgeous weather and in part that Artemis might feel more comfortable if they were in a public space where Emilia can't try anything (although she isn't entirely sure what it is she's meant to be trying); Artemis, however, hesitates before answering, and so Emilia assures her they can go inside if she wants. This she does agree to, and in they go.

Emilia should have thought of that. Artemis wants to be out of the way, obviously. And sure enough, she goes for the seat in the corner.

"Have whatever you like," she says, handing her a menu. "The League is paying."

"Is that okay?"

"Of course. This is business, after all. Technically." Emilia smiles. "I won't tell Lorelei if you don't."

Artemis doesn't smile back.

"Is that who you work for?"

"Mostly, yes."

They order: coffee, croissants, water for Nadia, tea for Artemis. Emilia watches the way she grips the cup tightly between her hands and wishes she wasn't the authority figure that she is.

"So, Artemis," she says. "I know it must seem like I just pop up wherever there's trouble, but I actually didn't come here because of what happened last night."

"No?"

"No." Emilia sips her coffee and sends a thought to Nadia, _pay attention_. Artemis has her sympathy, but she still has a job to do. "I'm here because you started asking questions in Pallet."

A tense, ugly moment of fear. Artemis' salandit slithers off her breast onto the table, where she crouches and stares aggressively at Nadia, who hops nervously away from her dish of water towards Emilia.

"I guess that makes sense," says Artemis, making no move to intervene. "I expected someone to come after me for that."

"I wouldn't say we're coming after you. We're worried, actually. You've been involved with breach twice" (and Emilia remembers that she is not supposed to say what she is about to say and then thinks screw it) "maybe even three times, we can't tell what that scyther is, and we're starting to get concerned." She gives Artemis her best I-want-to-help-you look. It's studied, but that's not to say she doesn't mean it. "Under the circumstances, I'm amazed you didn't start asking questions sooner."

"The scyther was breach?" Artemis leans forward, intent. Emilia has to stop herself from leaning back. "So it _was?_ "

"We don't know." Emilia shrugs. "Breach is disruptive, mutations aren't unknown. But we've had people searching Route 1 and nobody's found any trace of an actual event yet. Could be that the scyther itself is a breach entity, could be that the breach happened _inside_ it, could be that it's just a sick scyther."

Artemis looks strangely disappointed. Emilia nudges Nadia with her mind, looking for clarification, and the response comes back positive. Why would she be disappointed? Is it certainty she's after?

"Okay," says Artemis. "So … so what do you want from me?"

A little scared, a little plaintive. Her salandit picks up on it and raises the fins between her shoulder blades, a tiny draconian threat display. Nadia decides to relocate to Emilia's shoulder, just in case.

Artemis sighs.

"Brauron," she says in exasperation, picking her up and putting her on her shoulder. "Sorry. She just wants to help."

The salandit wriggles a little, but she stays where she's been put.

"I know," replies Emilia. "It's fine." (It is not, really, because Effie would have done the same and every time Brauron moves to defend her partner Emilia cannot help but be reminded that she is dying, but she says it anyway.) "And as for what we want from you – officially, I'm here to ask you what you think you know, and to get you to stop digging for information."

Artemis pauses with her teacup halfway to her lips.

"And unofficially?"

Emilia has a strange urge to glance over her shoulder to catch any eavesdroppers, as if she's in a movie, but she squashes it.

"Unofficially, Artemis, I think something's wrong with this whole thing. It seems to me like someone is actively triggering breach events, and you don't need me to tell you that that's not a good thing. Unfortunately, people don't like being given bad news, and I don't have any evidence. Which is where you come in," she adds. "If there's anything you can tell me that might help, I'd be glad to hear it."

Artemis picks at her food for a while in silence. Busying her fingers, Emilia thinks. Fidgeting rather than hungry. It's okay. She can wait.

"I … don't know," she says in the end. "I don't know anything."

 _LYING_ , says Nadia, although Emilia does not need to be told.

"We both know that's not true," she replies, as gently as she can. "Or you wouldn't be looking around in Cinnabar House."

Another silence. Artemis won't meet her eye, staring down into the tabletop, hands in her lap. On her shoulder, the salandit tenses and coils around the back of her neck, pressing her head against her partner's jaw.

At least she got a good partner, thinks Emilia. That salandit really cares about her.

"I heard that something happened on Cinnabar," says Artemis. "And then I got here and I thought that abandoned houses don't normally have razor wire around them."

Clever. Probably mostly true, as well. But it's the first bit that really interests Emilia. Something _did_ happen on Cinnabar: the M entity broke containment and began murdering its way across Kanto before the League counterattack drove it into whatever hiding place it's been in for the past ten years, if it's still alive at all. The thing is, how does Artemis know about that?

"What did you hear about Cinnabar?" asks Emilia. Artemis shrugs.

"Nothing. Just that something happened."

Nadia is silent. That much at least must be true.

"Okay," says Emilia. "That's okay. _Where_ did you hear about that?"

Artemis hesitates.

"I …"

Emilia waits, and when it becomes clear she isn't going to continue steps in again.

"I'm on your side," she says. "I promise, Artemis. I'm not looking to get you in trouble, I just want an end to this. People are getting hurt."

"They are?"

"Yes. I can't divulge any details, but there have been injuries." Emilia hopes that doesn't sound too intimidatingly officious. "I know, I know, I'm League, I defend people who at least some of the time don't have your best interests at heart – but I'm human too, Artemis. More than I want the League to contain this, I want whoever's breaching to stop."

A second passes. The door jingles as someone enters; at another table, cutlery clinks. Artemis stares at her plate for a long time, and then, without looking up, she speaks.

"Giovanni," she says. "It's Giovanni." She pauses for a while, for so long in fact that Emilia isn't sure she's going to say anything else, but then she continues. "He was waiting for me in Viridian Forest. Said he was catching starters. Thought I was asleep. But I heard … he scanned me or something, I dunno, looking for breach radiation, and he couldn't get his scanner to work so he called someone for help. Mentioned something that happened on Cinnabar then. I didn't find anything here, though."

It seems like this time she really is done. Emilia nods gravely.

"Thank you," she says sincerely. "I suspected as much. Giovanni … I think he used to lead a breach research project, but the Elite Four had it shut down. My suspicion is that he and his team have carried on anyway."

"Can you stop him?" asks Artemis. "Can you just – can you make it stop?"

She sounds so desperate. Emilia wishes she could say yes.

"I can take it to the Elite Four," she says. "I can have Giovanni brought in and an investigation launched."

"But will that stop it?"

Emilia hesitates a moment too long, and Artemis looks away, hurt.

"Okay," she says. "I guess that's my answer, then."

"I'm going to do what I can," says Emilia. "I really will. But Giovanni will be prepared for me. He's been at this a long time, and I don't believe for a second that he doesn't have some kind of contingency plan in place to deal with a situation like this."

"Okay." Artemis does not sound disappointed, which is possibly worse than if she did. "So what now?"

"Now I ask you for permission to tell the Elite Four what you just told me about Giovanni," says Emilia. "And you say yes, or no if you like but I'd appreciate it if you said yes, and then I let you get on with your trainer journey. Like I said, you're not in any trouble, nobody's going to stop you. Just – stay safe, okay?"

Artemis nods.

"I'm trying," she replies. "I'm trying. And – okay, you can tell the Elite Four. If it will help."

"It will. Thank you." Emilia drinks the last of her coffee and reaches for her bag. "Here is my card," she says, taking one out and scribbling on it. "I'm writing down my personal phone number – you call that if you run into more trouble, all right?"

Artemis looks from it to her and back again.

"All right," she says. "I'll do that."

Probably even she doesn't know if she's telling the truth there; no way Nadia will be able to tell. It's all right. She _might_ , and that's what matters.

"Hang in there," says Emilia. "This won't last forever."

Artemis turns her cup around on its saucer, watching the dregs of the tea swill around the base. She does not look up at Emilia when she speaks.

"Is it … how do you do this?" she asks, voice cracking. "How – just _how?_ "

Emilia does not know what to say. She never really imagined herself having this conversation with anyone. She never really imagined herself having anyone to have it _with_.

It hurts to think this, a blunt pain like dull teeth pressing into skin. What can she say? That it gets easier? Because all right, it's true, it _does_ , after those first few awkward years you get into the rhythm of it; and yet how can Emilia say that to Artemis, when the truth is that nobody who looks at Emilia will ever know she isn't cis while nobody who looks at Artemis will ever miss it? Emilia has no right, not really. She has no right to look Artemis in the eye and sell her a vision of a future that is not open to her. She shouldn't be championing the path she's taken anyway; she should encourage Artemis to celebrate who she is, not keep it chained up in the attic like a dirty secret. And yet, and yet – what does celebration get you, other than a kick in the teeth? Because the more you like yourself the more they hate you, because you are supposed to be a miserable broken thing striving endlessly for acceptance, and if you aren't then you are to be punished.

What can Emilia say in the face of all that? What can anyone? Some things are too big and too painful to ever be illuminated by words.

"I'm sorry," she says in the end. "It's hard. In some ways it always will be. But in others it will get better."

Artemis looks up now, into her eyes, devastatingly hopeful.

"Will it?" she asks.

Emilia holds her gaze, and gives a perfect reassuring smile. It's like the I-want-to-help-you look: just because it isn't real, doesn't mean it isn't true.

"Yes," she says, hoping she is not lying. "It will."

* * *

While she is still sitting on a low wall by the harbour, looking at the waves and trying to process everything that has happened, Artemis' phone buzzes into life.

 _hey! back yet?_

Cass, then. Artemis told her this morning that she had some errands to run, and she believed her. Something else to feel guilty about, that, but she couldn't think of anything else to say. Worse, when she looked at Cass all she could think was that maybe she was the one who tipped off the cops, even though of course she wasn't, because even if she was awake there's no way she could have known where Artemis was going. And obviously she felt even guiltier about _that_.

Anyway, she tells herself, she should go back now. She _should_. They'll go to the Gym and train and because her mind and body will be occupied Artemis will feel better. It's just that right this moment, after being arrested and then rescued and all the rest of it, she really, really doesn't want to.

But.

"Okay, Brauron," she says, easing herself down off the wall. "Let's go."

She sends a quick _on my way_ back to Cass and starts heading through town towards the Centre. Things are getting weird now. Can she trust Emilia? No idea. Why did she tell her about Giovanni but not the diary? Also no idea. Artemis' problem is that she can't even seem to understand her own actions right now, let alone anyone else's. What is she trying to achieve here? Hell if she knows. All Artemis is sure of is that she is very tired and very stressed and her meds haven't been doing much to stop her hallucinating recently.

Maybe going to the Gym is what she needs after all. Forget about all of this for a few hours. Let the fear fade from specific back to nebulous. Put some distance between her and last night, and this morning for that matter, and come back to it when she actually has the capacity for some proper analysis.

It's not far back to the Centre, but it's long enough for her to make some attempt at composing herself. By the time she walks in and finds Cass, Artemis looks – not normal, she never looks normal, but as close as she's going to get. Cass asks if she got everything she needed; Artemis squashes the paranoid distrust rising inside her and says yes, and are you ready? And Cass is, so they go.

The walk up to the Cinnabar Gym is much like the trip up the mountainside yesterday – better paved, naturally, and with more signposts, but otherwise it winds through the same stands of olive trees and rocky outcrops, the same fields of clover and butterflies. Above, the Gym juts out into the sky like the prow of a ship, tall and black and ridged with ancient buttresses. As they get closer, its age becomes more apparent – its stones are worn and rounded at the edges, and in places patched with modern mortar – but it doesn't seem any less impressive. Artemis imagines the old Kantan knights advancing across the island in the fourteenth century, armour glittering in the light from their rapidash, and looking up at the castle in its prime. How they cracked it she has no idea. Maybe she should read up on siege warfare sometime.

"Okay, maybe I'm just unfit but this is a ridiculous climb just to get to the Gym," puffs Cass, as they turn the corner onto the last stretch. "I know this is a site of special historical value or whatever but couldn't they have just made it a museum and put the Gym somewhere else?"

"I think it's because it used to be military," says Artemis. "And, you know, back then the League _was_ the military. So I guess they had the building and needed something to do with it."

"That's like the worst excuse for making me climb halfway up a mountain I've ever heard," says Cass. "Damn it, Ringo, hurry up and evolve so you can fly me up here."

"Can fearow do that? They don't look big enough."

Cass shrugs.

"Think so. At least, there's this Vine I saw once of a guy who goes _today is the day … that I finally kill the sun_ and then in the next shot he's being carried away by a fearow while he fires like a water pistol at the sky."

Artemis snaps her fingers.

"Yeah," she says. "I think I saw that one."

The main entrance to the Gym is a pair of massive reinforced gates between two stone pillars as thick as Artemis is tall; a more sensibly-sized door has been cut into the left-hand gate, and this is propped open with what looks like a piece of an old statue.

"Security's not what it used to be, huh?" says Cass, and despite her anxiety Artemis laughs.

"Nope," she agrees. "It sure isn't."

Inside, the Gym is cool and dim, despite the searing heat and bright light outside. It isn't as big as Artemis expected, either; the ceiling is maybe twice her height, and the far wall not more than ten metres away. The room is a curious hotchpotch of ancient and modern, twentieth-century posterboards fixed to thirteenth-century stone walls and a computer at the front desk casting a faint light onto time-worn flagstones. No windows, which is a little oppressive, but probably that's just how castles go. There isn't much point building massive walls if you're going to immediately punch them full of holes.

"Hi," says the woman at the desk, seeing the two of them standing at the door and staring. "Can I help you?"

She can; they're on their trainer journey, have been doing the journeying bit and now would like to stop and do the training part as well; this is fine, there are sessions being run most of the time, sometimes led by Blaine if there are no challengers and by Merle, his second, if there are; there is in fact one on at the moment, if they'd like to go through that door there? They would, and they do, and beyond the door they find a large room carpeted in fireproof crash mats and lit by several small, high windows, in which several trainers and a bewildering variety of pokémon are engaged in creating a series of extraordinary noises.

Merle, a tall man with lank dark hair, sees them entering and comes over with a smile and a welcome that penetrates even Artemis' unease with its warmth. Trainers? Come in, they're just getting started. Ah, a salandit! Marvellous, marvellous; even Blaine will be envious of that. And a spearow? Excellent. It's cliché, of course, but we like hot-tempered pokémon here.

So it goes. Artemis is very nervous, but most of the other people in the room are Gym trainers and they are all much too fascinated by Brauron to care about her partner's appearance. Brauron accepts their praise and attention with her usual air of royal dignity, and Artemis finds herself fielding what feels like dozens of questions: where did she get her? What sort of personality does she have? How far do her powers of corrosion extend? She answers as best she can before Merle steps in and calls for order, slotting Cass and Artemis in among the other trainers, matched against a charmeleon and a ponyta, respectively. He's good at this: the charmeleon can match Ringo's speed and the ponyta refuses to let Brauron stay at a distance.

After that, Artemis doesn't really have the time to worry. There's too much to think about: the ponyta's trainer knows a lot about fire-types, and his directions open up new possibilities she'd never considered before. Okay, now I want an ember with _minimum_ fuel usage, he'll say, and by way of example the ponyta will spit a tiny fireball that's more superheated air than flame; now let's try that again but with more power, he continues, and this time it produces a splashing orb of fire the size of Artemis' fist. Your turn, he says, and Artemis and Brauron do their best to replicate it.

Most water-types, poison-types and fire-types share this one issue of limited ammunition: there's only so much fluid a blastoise can store in its torrent sacs, so much venom in a nidoran's spines, so much powder in a charizard's furnace-gizzard. Unless yours is one of those pokémon who draw their power from more arcane places (and Brauron is not), you have to learn to ration it out, to take calculated gambles. A channelled move like flamethrower uses up more than a single-shot move like ember – but sometimes sweeping a plume of fire across the arena might be the only way to hit an evasive opponent. Can your salandit do flamethrower? No? All right, let's see if we can teach her …

It's hard work, especially with so many fire-types heating up the room with open flames, but after a few hours Artemis is getting somewhere. Brauron doesn't quite have the fuel capacity to sustain a flamethrower yet, but she's starting to get the hang of flame burst, and once, without either Artemis or the other trainer knowing quite how, she spits vivid blue-purple flames shot through with white lightning: some kind of dragon attack, though what move exactly it might be neither of them are sure.

Eventually, Merle calls a break so the pokémon can eat and recover the energy lost in breathing all that fire, and Artemis finds Cass at one end of the room, holding out a handful of mealworms for an unusually tired-looking Ringo.

"How's it going?" she asks, digging in her bag for Brauron's ash pellets.

"Pretty well," says Cass enthusiastically. "These guys are really good, you know?"

"Well, it _is_ their job."

"Yeah, I guess. Learned a lot about stamina management. Ringo can't stay in the air that long anyway, but it's gonna be helpful for when he gets bigger. Getting better at nailing those mirror moves, too. You?"

"Similar kinda thing. Fuel stuff. Can't keep relying on that trick where Brauron blows up all her gas at once."

"Hey, if it ain't broke …"

"Well yeah, but I kinda need more than one tactic."

Break over, and back to work; the fire flashes, the room heats up, and the cryptic shouts of trainers commanding pokémon fills the air. The training goes on, and then at around six culminates in an impromptu tournament. Artemis makes it to the third round before she has to forfeit, Brauron completely out of venom despite her eagerness to fight. It's impressive, really. She has kind of an advantage, given that nobody here has faced a salandit before, but even so. She'll take three wins when all her opponents are professionals, any day of the week.

And when she and Cass leave, tired but excited, and make their slow way back down the mountainside towards the town spread out below like a child's toy, it occurs to her that she didn't even think of breach at all.

* * *

Cass goes to bed early, which is moderately surprising considering how late she got up, though Artemis can't deny that sleep is definitely enticing after their afternoon at the Gym. It's strange how much effort it takes. The Gym Leaders and the professionals on TV are always so relaxed and confident, barely moving a muscle throughout the battle, but apparently there's some way to go before you get to that point. Artemis spent an awful lot of time today shifting from foot to foot, gesturing wildly and hopping around. It feels to her like a rookie trainer kind of thing. At least, she hopes it is. If not, she's going to look kinda ridiculous when it comes to her Gym challenge.

Which is something she's thinking about now, as she bids goodnight to Cass and settles deeper into her chair in the Pokémon Centre's lounge. Brauron is fireproof, in fact splashes around in it as happily as other salamanders do in water, and though that's not perfect protection against a fire-type attack – some of the raw force behind the move will get through – it puts her in a pretty good position to take on Blaine himself, now that she's got some experience under her belt. Maybe not tomorrow; she and Brauron both need a break, maybe another training session. But sometime soon.

Tonight, though … well. Tonight she has something else to do. Something that's probably either going to be very boring or very stressful. One of those all-or-nothing deals.

Okay. Brauron asleep in her lap, kids watching TV across the room. A comforting warmth and pleasant background noise. It's about as good a setting as she's going to get.

Artemis opens up M. Fuji's diary, and begins to read.

 _9_ _th_ _October 2006_

 _Imagine genetics as watercolour painting: no need to snip and splice, no intricate fine detail work, but the freedom to rewrite as you please, to gesture in the direction of what you are after and watch your material move accordingly. This is what we're doing here. I can't go into the details – I may already have said too much! – but it involves targeted pulses of a specific kind of radiation. The results are simply staggering. Perfectly controlled mutation. You'd think this would simply be a recipe for cancers, but everything so far created is remarkably stable. I've seen examples, though obviously I can't write about any of them._

 _I think I made the right decision coming here. With the new specimen and its unusual genetic properties, we have a chance to create something with incredible potential._

You don't need to be a geneticist to see where this is going. Artemis thinks about the scyther, about its strange in-between-ness, and is appalled to think that someone might have tried to _use_ that, to make breach into a tool. It also makes her uneasy. If breach radiation causes mutations, what's it going to do to her? She's got at least five rads to her name.

The old fear kicks and snarls inside her like a scared dog, barking and blustering to hide its panic. Artemis feels her hands tighten on the book, her pulse spike and her breath catch, and then she works her way back down again into something resembling calm. It's okay. She hasn't turned into a raging abomination yet. And hell, whatever happens to her body, it can't get any uglier, can it?

She tricks herself into smiling with that, and takes advantage of it to press on with Fuji's diary. There's a lot of incidental detail; Fuji generally does a good job of avoiding writing about their work, especially anything that the League might take issue with, and Artemis finds herself skipping much of it. It's clear, however, that they and their colleagues were trying to create … something. Some kind of artificial breach entity, maybe.

This is an objectively terrible idea, and Artemis is glad that the facility is now abandoned. Whatever they were doing here, they shouldn't have been doing it.

She reads on, and after wading through several pages of Fuji getting excited about chemicals Artemis can't pronounce, finds something else of interest.

 _6_ _th_ _February 2007_

 _It's awake. Everything we've been working towards has led up to this – and it worked. I have to admit, I wasn't sure it would survive once taken off life support. The projected results were always somewhat up in the air. But it's worked. The creature is awake and appears lucid, even reasonable. I am not sure how intelligent it is, but it follows our movements with its eyes, as if trying to parse them. It is truly remarkable._

 _Next up are the tests to determine whether or not it is still a pokémon. If not, this will all have been for nothing. If it is – well, remarkably enough, we might actually have got this right first time. This is quite possibly the greatest breakthrough in the field that will occur during my lifetime, and nobody will ever know._

 _Well, we're not in it for the fame, are we? Enough for now, I think I hear the kettle boiling. Until tomorrow!_

Something about this entry seems important. Artemis rereads it, slower this time, and then the penny drops: it was a pokémon. They wanted to make a pokémon. And why did they want to make a pokémon? Because if it's a pokémon you can catch it, in one of those reinforced ones they use for raging gyarados perhaps but you _can_ catch it, and if it has that same old pokémon instinct you can do more than that. You could train it.

An obedient breach entity. What would you even do with something like that? And who would be able to hold a poké ball knowing that something huge and horrifying was within it, ready to explode?

Not Artemis, that's for sure. But then, the kind of person who would do this is probably someone much less afraid than she is.

Artemis flicks through the pages rapidly, towards the point where the writing stops. She knows, kind of, what must have happened. Something went wrong, something that Giovanni at least thinks is Steve's fault, and then whatever it was they made here decided it didn't want to be here any longer. It makes a brutal, horrid kind of sense.

Still. She needs to know. She doesn't _want_ to, but she needs to all the same.

 _1_ _st_ _September 2007_

 _I don't know what to say or think. It killed them. All of them. They're dead and it is_

 _What have we done? I can't stop thinking about it, those eyes, that_ _voice_ _, like nothing I've ever heard before. "What have you done?" it asked. "Why did you do this?" And none of us had an answer and it killed them all. Except me. Not fucking me, god knows why but not me._

 _I_

 _Someone was careless with its ball. I think that's it. We had it made specially, plated with bisharp steel to reflect telekinesis, but someone put it down on the table and it just took the whole desk. Ripped it right out of the floor. Nobody could get to the ball to recall it._

 _That moment. When it was over there and the next instant it wasn't, it was right there, holding its ball so we couldn't get it._

" _What have you done? Why did you do this?"_

 _It was a reckoning, a calling to account, and we were all judged and found wanting._

 _I have to get away from here. The project will be shut down anyway, after this. There's nothing left here for anyone._

 _Home. I am going home, and if the League wants to stop me it's welcome to fucking try._

Artemis is very still for a minute, and then she shuts the book and lays it down on the arm of the chair.

She closes her eyes and concentrates. Brauron on her lap. The babble of the TV. Chatter from the hall.

Breathe in, and out.

Someone died. A bunch of people, even. A bunch of people died and someone made it disappear and this is all that's left, the diary of some poor bastard who was in it for the science and didn't even consider the consequences until it was far too late. And if Artemis hadn't stumbled into this mess and through their room in Cinnabar House, nobody would even know.

Artemis opens her eyes again and sighs.

Okay?

Okay. Or no, not really, something horrific happened and the fact that she's the only one who knows about it is a lot more than she wants or needs, but okay enough for now. Okay enough to ask, what next?

Surprisingly enough, Artemis has an answer. It involves going to bed and forgetting about all this for eight hours. As answers go, it kinda lacks for elegance, but it's all she's got right now. It's going to have to do.

"Right," she says quietly, lifting Brauron from her lap. "C'mon. We can sleep upstairs, kiddo."

Sss, goes Brauron, half-opening one eye and sinking luxuriously into her arms.

"Sure," replies Artemis, picking up Fuji's diary, trying not to think about what lies inside. "Something like that."

* * *

It could have gone better. It could have gone worse, too, but it could have gone better. Emilia has plenty of time to consider this as she suffers through the ferry ride east to Fuchsia, stuck in her cabin with seasickness and no phone reception. She didn't really do what she came to Cinnabar to do; Artemis is probably not going to stop digging. But she does have some eyewitness testimony that Giovanni is up to something, which is _some_ kind of evidence, even if it isn't completely conclusive, and that means she might just have enough to take the case to Lorelei. It's going to be painful, and quite possibly it's going to put more strain on their friendship than it can stand, but after seeing Artemis that morning Emilia honestly can't find it in herself to put it off any longer. Something has to be done, and she's the only one who can do it.

And then there was her disastrous attempt to impart life advice. What was she thinking? _In some ways it will get better_. What kind of weak prevaricatory nonsense is that? Could she not think of anything more encouraging? Artemis is young and sharp as a tack, and clearly has a knack for training to boot; she has so much going for her, and all Emilia could say was that it would be hard but also it would get easier. Obviously she's been doing too much League work. She can't seem to open her mouth without equivocating.

She sighs. It's fine. Artemis can look after herself, mostly; she's seen several breach events and come away unscathed every time. Emilia should focus on doing the things that Artemis can't: to wit, hammering away at the upper echelons of the League until somebody decides to do something.

This, however, is something she can only do when she arrives back on dry land, where there's enough reception for her phone to actually work. For now, Emilia decides, she needs to focus on not throwing up. With some concentration and a lot of soothing feelings beamed into her head from Nadia, she succeeds, and then when she arrives in Fuchsia, she staggers off the boat and into a taxi to the airport.

She doesn't call Lorelei. Not yet. The conversation is going to get ugly, and Emilia owes it to both of them to have it out face to face.

Up there among the clouds, Emilia finds her misgivings dissipating. Aeroplanes have this effect on her, she's noticed; the boredom seeps in like water and douses whatever anxiety it is that happens to be burning in her gut. Perhaps it's the distance. From thirty thousand feet up, she looks back at her past self in Cinnabar, and shrugs. She did what she could with Artemis. And now, she's going to do the right thing. What happens next, happens. But Emilia will not look back and regret it.

Eyes closed, she leans back in her seat and breathes in the low chaos of the plane: footsteps of stewards, quiet conversation, the creaking of chairs and that dull, all-pervasive mechanical hum. Nadia making small avian noises in her lap.

Seconds pass. Maybe days. Emilia opens her eyes, feeling calm and cold and focused, and walks with measured paces down the now-landed plane, out across the tarmac and through the streets of the Indigo Plateau towards the huge, glittering fortress at its heart.

Emilia spares a moment, as always, to look up at the columned façade of the Indigo Palace, and then she lets the past vanish away inside her and goes inside to ruin everything.


	11. 0B: To the Marrow

**0B: TO THE MARROW**

In the morning, Artemis feels marginally better. This isn't saying much, given how she started off, but she's been dealing with her brain long enough to be able to take small victories when they come. She's suddenly become privy to yet _more_ horrible secrets, yes, and she isn't sure what she's supposed to do with any of them – but it's a bright, sunny morning and Brauron is poking her forehead repeatedly in an attempt to get her to feed her. Right now, Artemis doesn't need to know what to do next about breach. She just needs to get up and get on with having a trainer journey.

"Okay, Brauron," she mutters, pushing her gently out of the way and slithering out of bed. "You can knock it off now, I'm coming."

She sorts Brauron out, and then herself, and when Cass gets up she finds both of them downstairs, looking through lists of things to do in Cinnabar online.

"Is there anything you particularly want to do today?" Artemis asks her, glancing up from her phone. "Dunno about Ringo, but I think Brauron deserves a break, so I thought maybe I should go see some things, go back to the Gym this evening."

"Ringo doesn't deserve anything at all, ever," says Cass. "Ow! Okay, kidding, birdbrain. But yeah, might be nice to do the tourist thing."

And it _is_ nice, as it turns out. They climb the old clock tower and learn all about its carvings, which tell the story of the Summer and Winter Kings who ruled Cinnabar in turn until Summer King Javel and his moltres drove Winter King Hierat and his articuno away to make the island warm all year round; they go on a boat trip out for a couple of hours to see the mantine breaching and gliding like strange alien seaplanes. Artemis stands there gripping the railing and as the huge rays surge up out of the water around the boat even she can forget the vast and terrifying space yawning back at her on every side.

"Man!" cries Cass, over the crashing of a mantine slamming back down into the waves. "I gotta catch one of these sometime!"

"Yeah!" replies Artemis enthusiastically, although neither of them actually try to do so, and both know that they probably never will. These pokémon will partner with no one whose life is not lived at sea.

The mantine rise and glide and whirl, trailing remoraid suckered beneath their wing-fins like the engines of aeroplanes, and splash heavily back down again in explosions of brine. Elsewhere on the boat, cameras click and tourists point and shout. It's chaos, loud and messy and everything that puts Artemis on edge; still, somehow, with the giant pokémon flying around her, none of it seems to matter. She watches, rapt, and holds Brauron inside her jacket away from the spray, and when the boat turns and makes its way back towards the island it seems to bring a certain kind of peace with it.

Then it's back up to the Gym for training – although today Blaine is accepting challenges, and so they end up spending at least half the afternoon in the cavernous central hall of the old fort, where in an arena marked out in scorched tiles a series of impressive battles play out. Artemis watches carefully, listening to the old ritual announcements and trying to work out what's going on behind the commands and the tussling pokémon. Blaine seems to send out as many pokémon as the challenger registers, but never less than two, and if she's gauging this right he's somehow working out which pokémon and strategy will be right on the limits of his opponent's ability, so that everyone gets an equal challenge. That rapidash and arcanine, huge and fast, are meant to test that girl's dugtrio's speed; that magmar and its status moves are intended to stop that guy's poliwhirl just rushing in and tanking hits while it punches.

So what, Artemis asks herself, would Blaine do against Brauron? Something fast but not too tough, something that likes to get in close where Brauron is more vulnerable. Ponyta, maybe, or charmeleon or growlithe. She starts to think about ways to counter them, talking to Merle and the other Gym trainers about their strengths and weaknesses, and Merle gives her a wink.

"Figured it out, eh?" he says. "You're a sharp one. Blaine's going to love that."

There are no specific lessons in today's training practice; Artemis has a goal, and that's to find a strategy that will work against Blaine. Merle pairs her up in practice matches against trainers partnered with the pokémon she's looking to beat, and though she doesn't win them all she and Brauron mostly give as good as they get. Growlithe are tenacious, but they're more enthusiastic than accurate and Brauron can usually outpace them; ponyta kick hard, but they get skittish and uncomfortable when Brauron gets right between their legs. Charmeleon are more of a problem: they're as comfortable up close with their claws as they are at a distance with their fire breath. Artemis figures her best bet is to poison them, but they're fast enough that lining up the poison gas is a tricky proposition.

Nonetheless, it's a good day, fun and productive and pleasantly devoid of cosmic horror, and then on the way back down the volcano to the Centre Cass mentions that tomorrow she'd like to visit the Fuji Resequencing Laboratories and Artemis' heart seems to drop out of the bottom of her chest.

"The what?" she asks.

"Y'know, the Fuji Labs?" replies Cass, cheerfully oblivious. "I just remembered the name earlier. It's that place where they clone the dinosaurs."

"Oh," says Artemis. "Uh. Right."

" _So_ , wanna go? Maybe they give out free samples. Or okay, probably not, but it'd still be cool to see a baby dinosaur."

"Yeah, it would." She tries to sound enthusiastic, but it's hard, and Cass seems to pick up on it.

"You know, we don't _have_ to," she says. "Or – you could do something else and I could―"

"No, it's fine." Artemis forces a smile. "I'd like to see a baby dinosaur too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

It's true, she would. She'd just prefer it if it didn't have Fuji's name attached. It can't be a coincidence, can it? Unless she's being paranoid again, drawing parallels that aren't there. No, it's the same person, it has to be. How many geneticists named Fuji can there be on Cinnabar Island?

"Okay, then, if you're sure," says Cass. She's offering Artemis one more chance to back out, which is kind of her, and Artemis wishes she could acknowledge that kindness in some way but honestly she isn't even sure where she would start, so she just nods and smiles instead.

"Sure I'm sure," she says. "Baby dinosaurs are cool."

"On that we can agree," says Cass. "There was this girl at school who had an amaura. I swear to god, I have _never_ been so envious in my life."

"What, you were allowed pokémon there?"

Cass shrugs.

"Most people had been on a journey already," she says. "And you know, most people keep one partner at least for life, right? So a bunch of kids had partners and they weren't gonna separate them."

Artemis supposes that makes sense. Pokémon weren't allowed at her school, but then, everyone went back home to them in the evening, so there wasn't an issue. If going home was no longer an option, she isn't sure it would even be legal to stop people bringing their pokémon with them. Even if they tried, nobody would actually enforce it. It's just not done.

"Makes sense," she says. "Where'd she get an amaura?"

"Same way most people do. Rich parents."

"Ah. Right, you said."

"Yep."

It is unusually curt for Cass. Artemis can feel the edges of her bitterness, just underneath her enthusiasm.

"Sorry," she says. "Probably you didn't wanna talk about it."

Cass glances at her, surprised.

"Huh? Oh, no. No, it's fine. She wasn't a jerk about it, just … oblivious."

Artemis nods slowly.

"Ah," she says. "Yeah, I completely get that."

Cass sighs.

"Yeah," she says. "I guess you would."

They walk for a while. From up here on the mountain trail, they can see far beyond the town, right out to the west where the sun is descending into the waves in a riot of colour and light.

"Man," says Cass. "It almost doesn't feel like you're in Kanto, does it? Like some tropical Hoenn kinda deal."

Hoenn. Hot white beaches and verdant rainforests, far far away from Fuji, or breach, or wayward geneticists or the goddamn Indigo League. If only, thinks Artemis. If only.

"Yeah," she says, aching for obscurity. "Some Hoenn kinda deal."

That evening, lying in bed, she Googles the Fuji Labs on her phone. Founded by one Dr Makoto Fuji, it seems, a brilliant geneticist who, after selling his share in the company, went on to work "for various corporate concerns", according to the least helpful Wikipedia page Artemis has ever seen. The account of his life loses coherence and trails off somewhere in the mid 2000s, and afterwards there's just a vague statement about him living in Lavender that someone has marked as in need of a citation.

She scowls at the screen and lowers her phone onto her chest. M. Fuji. Working with genetics. And didn't the diary say something about the League post taking him back to somewhere he'd worked before? Yes: _it'll be nice to revisit my old stomping grounds_. Definitely the same man, then. But – it's just a coincidence, right? The Lab was founded in the eighties, and according to the diary the League project took place ten years ago. Which means the Fuji Labs can't have anything to do with this, no matter how insistently Artemis feels they must do.

"You're sighing a bunch," notes Cass, from the other bed, where she is herself doing the bedtime phone thing. "Something up?"

"Huh? No, nothing. Just … parents," she invents.

"Ah, I gotcha," replies Cass. "Mine used to call me up a whole bunch too."

But not now? Artemis wonders for a moment about that, about what kind of terms Cass and her family parted on. She gets those calls from her aunt, sure, but she hasn't said a thing about her parents since that first night in the Viridian Pokémon Centre. In her mind's eye, Artemis sees an argument, a hastily packed bag, a storming out, and then she tells herself no. You can't just get up and leave on a trainer journey like that. There's paperwork to fill out and a licence to get. So probably nothing so dramatic, in the end: just slow-burning resentment and curdled hopes. The kind of ordinary pain that's too familiar and quiet to make a good story.

She sighs again.

"They're just worried, I guess," she says. "I've never really been away from home before."

"No?"

"Nope. And I don't have any brothers or sisters who coulda gone on a journey before, so. They worry."

"Right." Cass hesitates. Out of the corner of her eye, Artemis sees her lower her phone. "Mine … don't, I think. 'Cause I spent so much time away at boarding school and all. And, uh, well, I guess 'cause we didn't see so much of each other we kinda got … apart, a bit."

"Oh," says Artemis. "Um, we don't have to talk about it if you―"

"No, it's cool. We just don't get on that well, is I guess all it is." Cass' voice is very light, so much so that it cannot be genuine. "I mean, whaddya expect, they saddled me with the name _Cassandra_ , which, I feel like that's just a recipe for daughterly resentment, y'know?"

Artemis wants to laugh – feels like she's meant to laugh – but can't quite make herself follow through.

"Yeah," she says. "I know."

"And then there was the exam thing, and the hair, and the thing with … uh, anyway." Cass stops, a little too abruptly. It's all right. Artemis is curious, but more than she's curious she doesn't want to upset the first friend she's made in about five years, so she says nothing and waits for Cass to decide which way the conversation goes from here. "Doesn't matter, I guess," she says in the end. "They're not here."

The two of them lie there for a while, not talking, each unable for the moment to look at the other. Into the lack of conversation pour little night-time noises: the rustle of Ringo's feathers as he twitches in his sleep, the call of a nightjar, the distant roar of a nocturnal driver elsewhere on the island.

"I think I might challenge Blaine tomorrow," says Artemis, eventually.

"Really? Wait, no, I don't mean it like that, you're really good so like you should definitely do that, but … uh, yeah, I was just surprised."

"Me too, actually," says Artemis. "But I'm gonna have to try at some point, so."

"Guess so," agrees Cass. "Well, I guess we'd better get up early, then. Gotta get to the Gym and get you a timeslot."

"And go see some baby dinosaurs," adds Artemis, trying to emulate Cass' lightness of tone, and though she doesn't think she quite manages it Cass chuckles all the same.

"Yeah," she says. "And that. Gonna be a good one, I think. Night, Artemis."

"Night, Cass."

They switch off the lights and settle down into the dark. Artemis asks herself if she did okay just now, and to her surprise finds herself answering _yes_. Maybe she's got a shot at passing as a real person after all.

* * *

Lorelei's office is on the third floor, in the west wing of the Indigo Palace. It's quite a walk; the place was put up as a show of power, and the builders clearly knew that _big_ was the way to go. Emilia walks down long, vaulted corridors and up colossal stairways, and does not think anything of any of it. Money and class still intimidate her a little, even now that she herself has some of both, but in this state of mind she sees straight past them to the power they mask and is unimpressed.

The Palace is busier than usual. This year's challenge season is starting soon, and there are preparations to be made – rooms to be swept, tapestries to be hung, old rites to be performed. Emilia passes ladders, buckets of paint, flasks of lustral water, all being carried to and fro. The further in she goes, the less activity she sees, until at last she climbs the final staircase up to Lorelei's department alone except for Nadia.

And then she's there, walking through the office space towards the room at the back where Lorelei spends her time when not training. She knocks, and without waiting for an answer goes straight in.

"―so if you could run those papers down to," Lorelei says, to a man Emilia doesn't recognise, and then stops. "Oh. Um – what are you doing here, Em?"

Emilia looks at her for a moment without responding. Lorelei: five or six years her junior, pale as one of her ice-types, vivid red hair. Professional bearing. Cold around the edges, but not unwelcoming.

Time to put an end to that, Emilia thinks grimly.

"We have to talk," she says. "Right now, Lorelei."

The man looks at each of them in turn uncertainly.

"Uh – I can go," he says. "If this is―"

"No, hang on," says Lorelei, silencing him with an outstretched hand. "What _is_ this, Em? I'm in the middle of something―"

"We need to talk about something very classified. If you want to have this conversation in front of someone else, that's your call, but I wouldn't recommend it."

A long pause. Lorelei glares through her glasses, but it doesn't work on Emilia the way it does on junior League members and she just looks back at her, unmoved.

"Okay," she says. "Fine. Simeon, we'll talk later. Just take the papers for now."

The man picks up an envelope and nods at her.

"All right. I'll just – uh – I'll just leave you to it, then."

He walks out at a speed that leaves no doubt that he'd be running if he thought he could get away with it. In the silence left by his absence, Emilia sits down in front of Lorelei.

 _Nadia_ , she thinks, wishing she didn't have to do this. _Be ready_.

"I'm going to ask you a question that you're going to try to avoid," she says aloud. "What was ROCKETS?"

To her credit, Lorelei does not visibly react.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she says, but even before she's finished speaking Nadia has come out with a resounding _LYING_.

"Yes, you do. Giovanni was running it, I think, and now he's creeping around in the woods at night running tests on trainers like Ms Apanchomene who've come into contact with breach events." That gets a response: just a flicker, a tiny spark of unease in the pit of Lorelei's eye, but it's enough for Emilia to notice. "I asked if the League did breach research," she continues. "You said no, and you were right, weren't you? We don't. But we _did_ , once, and then you put a stop to it earlier this year and deleted all trace of it from the records. And that would have been fine, except that I have an email between Giovanni and someone on his team that suggests they didn't want to quit, and now we have multiple breach events all over the west side of Kanto."

Lorelei regards her for a long moment. Emilia holds her eye without reacting.

"We don't," begins Lorelei, and then Emilia cannot hold back any longer.

"I have a damn _natu_ , Lori, you're not fooling anyone!" she snaps. "You ignore this much longer, it'll happen again and who's to say we're going to get as lucky as we did before? It's a miracle that Oak didn't kill anyone, you know that. Haven't you been saying you want to stop this? I'm giving you a solution here, Lorelei. Take it."

Lorelei recovers fast. She only looks startled for a second, and then it's gone.

"Emilia, this is both nonsense and incredibly unprofessional," she says. "How did you even get hold of Giovanni's emails? I've told you before, we've never―"

"Nadia," says Emilia. "What do you think? Cast it so we can both hear."

 _LYING_ , confirms Nadia, with satisfaction, and Lorelei sighs.

"What do you want me to say? Yes, we have a secret breach research wing? I'm not that irresponsible―"

"I don't care." Emilia leans forward. "I really don't. I don't care about that in the slightest. I just want us to do our damn jobs, Lori, and I want this – this rogue black ops thing to be put down before it gets anyone else hurt."

"Don't be so melodramatic―"

"I'm not. That's exactly what it is, Lori, and those are exactly what the stakes are. You accept this, now, or we're looking at more and more breach events, and then it's only a matter of time before someone dies."

Slowly, Lorelei takes off her glasses and begins to polish them. Emilia sits and watches without speaking, letting the silence grow.

Seconds. A minute. Two.

Lorelei puts her glasses back on, and turns back to Emilia with a face as neutral and empty as a blank sheet of paper.

"You were never meant to know," she says, in a voice completely devoid of inflection. "It was too much of a risk. I thought I could just forget it when I shut it down, but I suppose not."

Emilia waits. She has time. This is all on Lorelei, now.

"It's called the Research Office for the Consolidation of Kantan Economic and Technological Superiority. ROCKETS. My predecessor set it up. Giovanni, he'd been heading it since the beginning. I never liked it very much. You have to believe that … I guess you don't have to believe anything." There is a near-imperceptible crack in Lorelei's icy mask: a tiny tremble of the lip, an uncertain movement of the eyelids. Emilia keeps her own face utterly blank. "They were the ones behind the M entity. Giovanni tried to sell me on the project's utility, but I was never entirely convinced. It took me a long time to make up my mind. Too long, I know, but I did. In the end."

This is exceptional, for Lorelei. Emilia has known her to ask for advice, albeit grudgingly, but to admit so openly that she was wrong, without any probing at all … that is something else altogether. Still, she doesn't react. Let it come out first, before she responds.

"I did think, when that first event happened near Pewter … but then it seemed like it was over. Except that it wasn't." Lorelei actually lowers her eyes then, apparently not able to meet Emilia's own. "I spoke to Giovanni, but he was quite convincingly surprised."

Of course he was, the smug bastard. Emilia can just imagine him, standing there with a look of shock and concern on his face at the terrible, terrible news.

"And that's it," finishes Lorelei. "You're right. I didn't want to believe I hadn't fixed it."

For the first time since Emilia's prompt, Nadia takes her eyes off Lorelei and turns towards her partner instead.

Emilia shakes her head.

"I wish I could say I'm surprised," she says. "Damn it, Lori."

There is just the faintest spark of anger in Lorelei's eyes, but she at least has the grace not to let it grow. All she does, in the end, is nod.

"Yes."

Pause. The noise of the office seeps in under the door, a muted hubbub of low conversation and rattling keyboards.

"Right," says Emilia. "Okay. You've admitted it. Now what are you going to do?"

There's only one right answer, and both of them know it. Lorelei waits as long as she can before she gives it. Pride, maybe, or shame. Or both. Emilia has never seen why that's an either/or situation, especially with someone like Lorelei.

"I'll call him in," she says, her reluctance showing again. "I'll call him in and start an investigation. Send in the internal review team."

Emilia sighs, relieved. For a second, she thought she wasn't going to say it.

"Good," she says. "Keep me up to date."

"Yes. Fine."

The pause this time is so long it almost hurts. Long enough for the cold of Emilia's anger to fade, and for the reality of what she has just done to begin sinking in.

"Well," she says, getting up. "I need to get back home."

"Yes," says Lorelei, not looking at her. "You do."

Emilia almost says goodbye, but something tells her not to speak, that even this small politeness might be too much, and so she turns away and walks out in silence.

Things probably aren't as badly broken as they seem, she tells herself, but they're sure as hell never going to be the same again.

* * *

Effie is growing fast.

Really, Emilia ought to have expected it. Pokémon have that bit of extra life in them, after all, that weird energy that comes out in fire or ice or fractures in the spacetime continuum; they do things differently to regular animals – and, for that matter, to regular plants. When a vileplume reproduces, it doesn't have to wait around for months while the fruit slowly swells. There's energy deep inside it, the same stuff that used to come out in petal dances and sludge bombs, and now that Effie has nothing left to fight she can redirect all that power upwards, into the lump at the top of her stem.

Emilia sits and stares at it, Lorelei and Artemis forgotten. The fruit is smooth and green and already as big as her fist. Taut. Swollen. Like a tumour, she catches herself thinking, and then corrects herself: no. Like a pregnant belly. Because this isn't the end, not really, because there will be seeds and Emilia will plant every last one and if she ends up filling her entire bloody apartment with oddish then that's what she'll do, she'll just be the oddish lady from now on.

So it's not the end. Except that, of course, it is.

Emilia stares. Elsewhere in the apartment, a clock ticks.

She can feel Nadia watching from the doorway, uncertain of what to do.

"I'm okay," she says. "You … you can do whatever. I'm just going to sit with Effie for a bit."

For a moment, there is silence, and then Emilia hears Nadia's claws scratching the floor as she hops towards her. A second later, there's that familiar pressure on her shoulder, so light she's almost not there at all, and the warm buzz of her partner's mind pressed up against her own.

She sighs and leans back against the wall, drawing her legs up close to her chest. She doesn't look at Nadia. She doesn't look at anything except Effie.

"Thanks," she says.

 _YES_ , Nadia says.

It had to end. Everything does, doesn't it? Trainer journeys come to a close and you have to go back to the home you're so afraid of; university finishes and you have to go out into the vastness of the world. Eventually, people end too, and pokémon. Emilia does not really have any friends at the moment and mostly does not really care to, but she did have some when she was younger, and several of those friends are dead now: Matt, car; Niamh, AIDS; Sam, lightning. It happens. She knows this. It wasn't meant to happen to any of them, but it happened, and it wasn't meant to happen to Effie either but it's happening.

So. It had to end. Everything does.

This does not make it any easier to swallow.

Sam stung in particular, and not just because it was her. It was like a bad joke. She was right there, kissed Emilia goodbye that afternoon in the east end, and then she drove away and two weeks later when she didn't come back Emilia got up the courage to call her family and was as angry as she was upset by what they told her. Who gets struck by lightning, for god's sake? What kind of a way to die is that? And what kind of a way to die is this, grotesque and protracted, composting your brain and exploding your skull into a bloated zit of an apple?

Emilia knows the answer, really. It's just a way to die like any other. It's just one of those things. Life is like that. Full of things.

She rests a hand on Effie's stem for a few moments, then stands up. She can't sit here and brood all day. That would be unhealthy, and more to the point selfish, when there's so much work to be done.

"Okay," she says. "Okay, you stay here, sweetie, and … and do your thing. I have to work now."

Effie is as still and unresponsive as a gravestone. Emilia shuts her eyes for a moment, listening hard in case she creaks or whispers or makes any of the other tiny noises that she used to make, and then of course she does not and Emilia opens her eyes again and walks away.

 _?_ , asks Nadia.

"It's fine," says Emilia. "Come on. We need to go over the diary and see what we have to catch up on."

They get to work, sending emails and rescheduling missed meetings, and Emilia is right, it _is_ fine, because it always is, in the end. Nothing has happened to her, after all; it's not like she's on fire or missing a limb, she can keep on working. So it's fine. It's always fine. Obviously.

So Emilia works, eats, sleeps, and though she dreams the old bad dream about her father (as she has not done in years) she is okay, really. She says as much when she wakes up: "I feel better for a good night's sleep." It doesn't sound very convincing even to her, but the point is to aggressively believe it whether it's true or not, and so Emilia believes it and gets up and goes about her business like everything is normal.

She isn't sure how long this can last, but at the rate Effie's going, she isn't going to need to pretend for much longer.

* * *

Technically it's possible to just call up the Gym and book a challenge, but there's something to be said for doing it the old-fashioned way. It feels more weighty, somehow, and while Artemis doesn't always care for weighty, she feels like it's what she wants for her first Gym challenge. History is huge and cruel and full of questionable choices, and often it lies all too heavily on Artemis' back; today, though, it's with her in its other guise, a connection that binds her to all those who have in the past stood where she stands now. Countless trainers have made this climb up the mountain to challenge countless Cinnabar Gym Leaders. Artemis imagines them walking with her as she follows in their footsteps.

In the Gym, she registers Brauron at reception and answers some questions about her skill level. It occurs to her that some people must lie to try and throw Blaine off, and then it occurs to her that the receptionist might think she's lying right now, and then she stumbles over her words and nearly trips over despite actually standing still. She gets through the miniature interview without lying or being accused of it, however, and in the end she and Cass leave with a time: 2.10. And that's it: come ten past two, she will actually be facing Blaine, a master fire-type trainer with more experience as Gym Leader than anyone else on the Kanto circuit.

Scary. But a lot less scary than, say, the spire, or the blurred man, or the scyther, or even Giovanni, so Artemis thinks she'll be okay. Besides, it's her first time, and everyone knows they don't really get serious with you till your third or fourth badge. Most of their challengers are kids, after all, and it's kind of expected that you go home from your trainer journey with at least one or two badges.

In the meantime, there are the Fuji Labs to investigate. They're in a part of town that neither Artemis nor Cass have visited yet, beyond the more touristy areas in a district of modern-looking buildings populated by busy-looking people with a professional air about them. Apparently Cinnabar isn't all old houses and twee souvenir shops.

"Huh," says Cass, looking around. "Y'know, I kinda almost forgot that people must actually, like, _live_ here."

Artemis can't think of a response, and so doesn't make one. She just shrugs and keeps walking.

The Labs themselves are housed in a low, pale building right by the waterfront, with a huge fibreglass aerodactyl soaring over the entrance. As she gets closer, Artemis sees odd shapes in the walls: spiral shells, patterned circles, strange dark lobes of stone.

"Look," she says. "Fossils."

"What? Oh hey, neat!" Cass peers at the wall, fascinated. "Is that – are they carved on there or something?"

 _No, it's limestone, a sedimentary rock that often contains fossilised sea life_ , quotes Artemis in her head.

"I don't think so," she says aloud. "I think they just picked stone with fossils in it."

"Neat," repeats Cass. "See that, Ringo? A hundred million years ago, this wall was a bunch of dudes you coulda beat up." On her shoulder, he glares and chirps viciously, suddenly animated at the prospect of violence. "Jeez, you gotta learn to chill, buster. You're gonna give yourself an ulcer with all that anger." She turns back to Artemis. "Okay, let's head in, I guess. See us some dinosaurs."

"Yep," says Artemis, and in they go.

White walls, framed photographs of smiling lab-coated people with cloned fossil pokémon, a big portrait on the far wall of a startlingly young Blaine and a broad-shouldered Japanese man who Artemis assumes must be Fuji. (He also looks young. Definitely wouldn't yet have had time to become a world leader in his field and be headhunted by the League at that age.) A few people – adults, some of them, but a lot of kids of all ages – hanging around near the entrance, waiting for something. Cass goes up to the receptionist and asks when the tour starts, and is told that there's one setting off in about ten minutes.

A few minutes of phone-poking and absent-minded petting of pokémon. Brauron slithers around on Artemis' shoulders, taking in the air and all its strange new smells. Ringo eyes up a poochyena sitting at some guy's heels and gets a warning _no_ from Cass. And then up pops an enthusiastic young man in a Fuji Labs shirt, and the tour begins.

It's kind of baffling, honestly. Artemis expected rows and rows of artificial eggs, maybe some big glass tubes with unidentifiable creatures gestating inside, but she's reminded more than anything of some kind of artisanal bakery. Once they get through the rooms of historical paraphernalia in which they are told about how visionary Dr Fuji was in looking at breakthroughs in genetics and realising he could make a lot of money by applying them to dinosaurs, the labs themselves are small and neat and never seem to contain as much as she thought they would. There are some big, impressive machines, there are centrifuges and huge computer towers, but in terms of scientists and dinosaur eggs, there's actually very little, and it's always arranged for maximum visual impact on the roped-off point where the tour stops to watch.

Probably this isn't a very trenchant observation; probably it's all staged, so that the Fuji Labs people can sell the idea of Fuji Labs as hard as they sell their dinosaurs. Still, what the tour guide says about their work practices does suggest a weirdly personal process: each animal hand-crafted with its own individual DNA, so that every omanyte is not just a clone of all the rest but unique right down to the genetic level. Something about this hybrid of corporate marketing and hipster concern with authenticity makes Artemis' skin crawl, but then the labs give way to the part that everybody really came for, the little unextincted zoo, and all her nascent misgivings fly away from her in the face of baby dinosaurs.

This part is outside, round the back of the building where a large plot of land has been fenced off and furnished with pools, trees and sandpits. There are amaura, dog-sized little sauropods that gambol up to the fence to stick their long necks through the bars and bleat at their visitors; there are kabuto that trundle in and out of the water like elaborate toys, legs moving like clockwork; there are even, in a little secure enclosure off to one side, some tyrunt that are steadily working their way through a small mountain of extra-sturdy chew toys.

It's pretty great. Cass and Artemis join in with making delighted noises and taking pictures; they even get to pet one of the amaura, which are all both very tame and very thick-skinned, so that even the shyest or clumsiest kids get to put their hands on them and know they're touching something that was last alive dozens of millions of years ago. It's enough to make Artemis forget for a few minutes about the dubious ethics of copyrighting a pokémon, and the baby-dino glow remains in her as they all troop back inside into the little museum/gift shop combo at the tour's end.

Artemis can't afford a fossil pokémon of her own, obviously, and though the plush amaura is _incredibly_ tempting she can't really afford that either, so she leaves the rest of the group to poke around in the shop and crosses over to the rows of vitrines and reassembled skeletons that make up the museum. Here is a case full of delicate stone fronds that were in life part of some intricate deep-sea creature; over there is a cast of a _Suchodontosaurus_ skeleton, the smaller Kantan answer to America's _T. rex_. There have been attempts to clone those, too, Artemis reads on the plaque, but like most things that aren't pokémon, even those specimens that were viable ended up not living long. The atmosphere is wrong for them or something, and regular animals aren't tough enough to cope.

She moves on, stroking Brauron so she isn't startled by her reflection in the glass of the cases. This is apparently a kabutops skeleton, huge slabs of shell all hunched and hooked like a goblin in its case. The recurved blades on its forelegs are as long as Artemis' thigh, and suddenly she is reminded of the scyther and its jagged, broken claw.

"Maybe we look at a different one," she says to Brauron, and moves on in a hurry.

At the back of the room, an aerodactyl skeleton has been set up perched atop a high shelf, looking down at the room from between the dramatic curves of its folded wings. It's much bigger than Artemis expected, so big it doesn't even look like it can fly, but she's seen one on TV before and she knows they move like quicksilver in the air.

Artemis stands there and looks up at the aerodactyl, and with a brisk grinding noise like a knife being sharpened, the aerodactyl turns its skull to look back down at her.

It's like a kick in the chest, only she doesn't move, can't move, frozen there in blind panic, and then the aerodactyl fails to move again and she catches herself just before she turns to run, tells herself to breathe, breathe, it's nothing, you're imagining things.

A minute passes, then two. Artemis sighs, long and shaky, and clenches her trembling hands into fists. The aerodactyl is motionless up there on its shelf. Probably it's always been in this position, Artie, and you just thought it moved. A hallucination. Or maybe not even that, it's kinda shadowy up there and maybe the light just shifted on it strangely and it _looked_ like it moved.

"Yeah," she says, wrenching her voice back out of its hiding place. "Yeah, that's it."

She stands there staring for a long time, but the aerodactyl does not move, and eventually she finds the courage to turn her back on it and retreat down the lines of cases and skeletons back to the reassuring bustle of the gift shop. Then she hears someone yell _Ringo!_ and reality seems to reassert itself as she sees the flash of a pokémon being recalled and Cass straightening up, running her fingers exasperatedly through her hair.

"Great," she's saying, glaring at a badly scratched plastic kabuto. "Now I'm gonna have to buy it, I guess." She looks up. "Oh, hey Artemis. Anything cool over there?"

"Nope," says Artemis, without looking back. "Just bones."

"Okay. Well, wanna get lunch now? I have to go pay for this thing Ringo ruined, but after that I think I'm done here."

"Okay," says Artemis. "Okay."

A couple of minutes later, they walk out and leave the kids poking at toys behind them. Artemis feels the hollow eyes of the skeletons on her back every step of the way.

They're not moving, she tells herself, as they head back out through the lobby into the street. They're _not_.

Cass lets Ringo out of his ball again once they're out and tosses him the kabuto toy.

"Here," she says, as he snatches it out of the air. "Since you broke it, I guess it's yours now."

He squawks indistinctly through the kabuto in his beak and starts waving it around, chirping happily at the way its articulated legs wiggle. Cass sighs and shakes her head.

"At least you're happy, birdbrain," she says. "Try not to destroy it before we even get back to the Centre, okay? That cost me _sixteen_ florins." She turns to Artemis and raises her eyebrows, then lowers them into a frown when this gets no response. "Hey, you okay?"

"Oh. Um. Yeah, I'm – I'm fine," says Artemis. "Just, uh, a bit nervous."

"About Blaine? That makes sense, I guess. You'll do great, though. You and Brauron work like _super_ well together."

Artemis tries to smile and more or less succeeds.

"Thanks," she says. "I appreciate it."

"No problemo." Cass grins. She's good at it, in a way that makes Artemis a little frustrated – both at Cass, for having a grace and beauty that she does not, and at herself, for envying her this. "Let's go, then."

"Sure."

They start walking, and deep in the caverns of Artemis' mind the fear begins to fade in the face of bright sunlight and ocean winds. She just imagined it. Skeletons don't move.

Cass sniffs.

"Hey," she says. "Can you smell burning?"


	12. 0C: Missing Numbers

**0C: MISSING NUMBERS**

The hall seems a lot bigger when you're the one standing at one end of the arena. You're aware of the audience, Gym trainers and curious travellers alike, gathered at the edges in the shadows beyond the shimmer of the protective psychic barrier; you feel the heat of the lights on your back, like a needle pinning you in place in full view of everyone.

It makes Artemis nervous. Being looked at is not something she enjoys. She tries to keep her eyes straight ahead, at Blaine taking up his position at the other end of the arena, but it's hard not to be aware of all those eyes, all those tiny judgements being passed.

"Good afternoon," says Blaine, leaning on his cane. He's ten, maybe twenty years older than Giovanni, with bold white moustaches and scarred eyes hidden behind dark glasses. Artemis does not think this will make things any easier: sighted or not, Blaine is a master. He could probably win this even without the service espeon at his feet, beaming what it sees into the back of his head.

"Hi," replies Artemis. Her voice sounds ugly with fear. Blaine smiles encouragingly beneath his moustache.

"No need to worry," he says. "Your first challenge, right?"

"That's right."

"And you chose me? An honour! The first time is special. I believe my first time was old Heidi, back when she ran Cerulean." He grins. "Well, then. Merle? If you would."

"Course," says Merle, stepping out from the audience up to the side of the arena. "Ahem. Challenger! State your name, if you will, and that of your partner."

The old formula, unchanged for hundreds of years. It makes Merle's voice rich with history. Artemis clenches her fist tight around Brauron's ball to disguise the way her hands are shaking.

"A-Artemis Apanchomene," she says, wincing at the tremble in her voice. "And Brauron."

"Leader! Your name, if you will, and that of your partner."

"Blaine Chatham," replies Blaine, crisp and confident. "Acknowledged Leader of the Gym of Cinnabar. My partner this day is Mordred."

Merle bows his head for a moment.

"Artemis Apanchomene and her partner, Brauron, claim their right to challenge you to a contest of arms, by the ancient law of this land," he continues. "Do you accept this challenge, Leader, as the covenant requires?"

"Aye," says Blaine. "I do."

"Then by decree of King and League, this contest may begin," says Merle. "May fortune favour the worthy!"

And then that's it: all the ritual nonsense out of the way, and the real business begun. Artemis' arm moves up and throws the ball before she even realises it, and with a dramatic pulse of light Brauron materialises on the tiles, crouched and ready to move. Across from her, Blaine releases another lizardlike pokémon, bipedal and flame-tailed: a charmeleon, twice Brauron's size and tough to match. Mordred, Artemis assumes. He drops briefly to all fours and snarls out a challenge, tail lashing, before raising himself back onto his haunches, ready to spring.

"Mordred takes the field!" cries Merle. "And, opposing, Brauron takes the field!"

A moment of stillness. Brauron and Mordred face each other, unmoving. The warmth in the air seems to bleed away and leave Artemis standing somewhere cool and dim and quiet.

Blaine smiles.

"Chuff," he says, and Mordred coughs out a striking cloud of acrid black smoke that rolls heavily across the floor and engulfs Brauron entirely. Artemis nearly panics, but it's fine, it's fine, Brauron can see through smoke better than she can so if she just _trusts_ her―

"M-claw!" barks Blaine, and as Mordred lunges forward into the smokescreen, foreclaws raised and flaring with eerie light, Artemis' mouth sidesteps her brain and calls out:

"Two o'clock, right now!"

A flicker of movement within the smoke; Mordred slashes and cuts only air, Brauron slithering out below the sweep of his arm. And now even if you can't see her she's at his side so make _use_ of it, Artie, right now:

"Cloud! Focused!"

Up pops a slim head from the smoke, and as Mordred whirls to face her Brauron spits a thin trickle of green mist directly at the spot he moves his head into. With a sound like a car backfiring, the charmeleon sneezes something black and noisome and scratches at its nose, reeling. There's the opening. Artemis cries out _go_ and without even asking Brauron knows what's needed: she pounces straight onto the larger pokémon's chest and knocks him down.

"Ball!" snaps Artemis, but Mordred is well trained and he's already recovered, twisting sharply and throwing Brauron off back into the smoke; her fireball goes wide and dissipates harmlessly on the arena's barrier.

"Press it now, son!" says Blaine. "M-claw!"

Again Mordred advances, claws gleaming, and Artemis can't see Brauron at all and maybe she hasn't even got up yet and maybe she's really hurt down there under the smoke and now Mordred's _right there_ and she still hasn't said anything―

Mordred swings, and seems to overreach, staggering forward like a drunk who's missed a punch; he croaks uncertainly, shakes his head and tries again, but Artemis' lungs seem to be working again now and she can shout:

"One o'clock and ball!"

Brauron scoots backwards out of the cloud onto the clearer tiles near Blaine and spits flame as she goes, green light splashing on Mordred's arm and knocking it back with a force that nearly unbalances him. But he's clinging on, despite the poison coursing through his veins, and at Blaine's command he drops to all fours and charges like a bear, growling ferociously, flames trailing from the corners of his mouth. In front of him, Brauron hesitates, hisses, glances up at Artemis for direction―

―and before either of them can react Mordred makes contact, bowling her over and sending her sliding across the arena towards Blaine. She croaks and scrabbles on the tiles to right herself, springing back with an energy that reassures Artemis she's startled rather than hurt, and then as Mordred sweeps in with claws raised once more Artemis finds her voice and shouts:

"Three o'clock and cloud!"

Brauron coils and leaps like a frog, spraying poison mist behind her, and Mordred, already woozy, fails to slow in time to avoid ploughing straight into it; he does manage to turn, and nicks her tail with one claw, but his legs don't seem to want to cooperate and they slither out from underneath him in opposite directions, dropping him unceremoniously on the floor. He tries to get up, hissing in frustration, but Blaine shakes his head and raises his ball.

"Enough. Mordred!"

A flash of light, and the charmeleon is gone. Artemis stares, blinking, and then all at once her tunnel vision fades and she is aware of the cheer coming from the audience. Mostly Cass, by the sound of it, but she's doing a pretty good job filling in for everyone else, too.

"Mordred quits the field!" calls out Merle from the sidelines. "Leader, you may call upon one other partner today!"

"Nice work, Ms Apanchomene," says Blaine, grinning. "I wondered how you'd deal with something too strong to take on directly. But I wonder how much venom little Brauron has left?"

Artemis smiles back, though it is strained. She isn't sure how she feels right now. Stressed, definitely. Afraid. But also alive, for some reason. Because – wait, hang on, is she _winning?_

Oh god, she thinks, her brain catching up with everything that just happened. She actually is.

"Uh," she says, trying to figure out words and not doing a good job of it. "O … okay?"

"Nearly there now," says Blaine. "Let's see – Galeron next, I think." He takes another ball from his pocket and looks at Merle expectantly.

"Challenger, call Brauron to her position," he says. Artemis beckons, and Brauron scampers back through the dissipating smokescreen to her side of the arena. "Thank you. Now – Galeron takes the field!"

Galeron turns out to be a growlithe, a lithe little bundle of tiger-striped fur that yaps and barks and barely even waits to touch the ground before he runs for Brauron, spitting flames. Artemis has her sidestep his charge and fire back, and by some freak accident her green fireball hits his orange one and the two explode with an intense light that forces her to look away. When she opens her eyes, after-images flashing across her vision, Galeron has closed the distance and is about to close his jaws on Brauron's tail. Artemis leans forward, crying out something incoherent – and bangs her head on the barrier, just as Galeron bites down.

Brauron hisses violently and kicks, hindclaws scraping across his face, but the little growlithe is as persistent as a terrier and won't let go. Artemis tries to breathe, tells herself Brauron's okay, but all she can see is those teeth in her tail, and she can't breathe, can't even think past that image, swelling and swelling until there is nothing left in her mind except sharp white teeth with blood welling up all around them―

"Light your tail!" she shrieks suddenly, not sure where the idea came from or even if Brauron will understand, and there is a short pause while Galeron tugs at Brauron and tries to shake her out of kicking and then, suddenly, light flares in his mouth and he spits her out, coughing violently. The growlithe retreats, panting and licking his scorched teeth, and Brauron pulls herself back onto her feet, the glow of her tail markings fading as the flame dies.

"Nicely done," observes Blaine. "Keep calm now, Ms Apanchomene! Have faith in your partner!"

He's right, Artie. Use this break, while Galeron's still confused and Brauron's recovering, and _think_. Brauron's still faster, and she's probably almost out of poison but she's still got claws. And Galeron won't want to go for her tail again after that, so …

"Cloud!" she cries. "Everything you've got!"

Brauron croaks, rears, and spits an unusually dark cloud that moves with uncanny speed across the arena towards its target, crashing into his side with far more than natural force. Galeron stumbles and falls, yelping in dismay, and though he gets back up again he does not move as quickly as before. Brauron's slowing too now, the markings on her back dull and lustreless, but she's _got_ this, she does, and when Artemis calls out _claw_ she scuttles across to Galeron and lashes out with all the usual determination.

"Orb!" calls Blaine, and Galeron tries but as he draws in his breath Brauron's claws connect, and, winded, he coughs out a half-formed ember that bounces onto the floor and fizzles out harmlessly. Without waiting for a further command, he swipes at her with one paw, and misses completely even before Artemis gives the order for Brauron to dodge. "Orb!" repeats Blaine, but Galeron seems to have other things on his mind than attacking. He withdraws, trying to put distance between himself and Brauron's nails, and Blaine nods and sighs. "Very well. Back now!"

A pulse of light, and Brauron's claws swish through thin air.

Artemis stares. Has she just …?

"Galeron quits the field!" cries Merle. "The battle is decided. Victory goes to the challengers, Artemis Apanchomene and Brauron!"

She has. She actually has.

"Good work!" says Blaine, striding forward as the barriers go down, his espeon backing off to let him pass. "You coped admirably. I thought you might lose your way when I pressed harder there, but you brought it back with that tail trick. And a perfectly executed smog to round things off, as well! Devilishly difficult to give it the kind of kick yhou managed there. Marvellous. Excellently done." He takes her hand and shakes it. Artemis shakes back automatically, slightly numb. It was … oh, of course. It was a test, wasn't it? That's what a Gym Leader is meant to do. They gauge your weaknesses and push you to see if you can overcome them. And Blaine is a very, very good Gym Leader. "And of course, you are to be commended as well," he continues, turning with startling accuracy to where Brauron is crouched, cooling down from the heat of the battle. "You're a regular little firebrand, aren't you? Boldly done, boldly done indeed."

Brauron hisses regally, as if to say _well of course we won_ , and Blaine chuckles.

"Excellent," he says. "Excellent, excellent, excellent. Very well. One last bit of ceremony then, eh? Merle, the badges."

"Right here," replies Merle, box in hand. "Okay. By the law of this land, Leader, these challengers have bested you. Give them their deserts, as the covenant requires."

"Gladly," says Blaine warmly, taking an enamel pin from the proffered box. "Artemis Apanchomene, Brauron, you have been tried by arms in the eyes of King and League, and found worthy. Bear your mark of honour with pride."

He holds out the badge, and Artemis, still not quite able to believe that this is happening, takes it. The red enamel winks up at her in the glare of the spotlights. This is it, she realises. This is actually the Volcano Badge, and it's actually hers, and she … she actually did it.

"Thank you," she says slowly. "I … thank you."

"Not at all!" cries Blaine, thumping the floor with his walking stick. "Thank _you_ for a fiery battle, Ms Apanchomene. And―"

"Blaine! Blaine, we've got trouble!"

Artemis turns, and sees someone making his way past the audience members (oh god, were there really that many people watching?) up towards the arena. Is that one of the Gym trainers? He looks vaguely familiar.

"What? What is it?" Blaine does not quite turn to face him. "Something wrong, Avery?"

"Yes." Avery comes to a halt, breathing hard. "There's been a breakout at the Fuji Labs."

The warmth of Artemis' victory dissipates in an instant, as if a bucket of cold water had just been thrown unceremoniously over her head. The Fuji Labs. The smell of burning. The skeleton. It couldn't be … it could. It really, really could.

"Breakout?" Blaine is suddenly all business, his good humour gone without a trace. "Something bad, I take it?"

"Yeah, I don't think it's the amaura," replies Avery. "They were pretty unclear on the phone – a kabutops, maybe? And something else, not sure what. But they're tearing up the north side of town, whatever they are. I looked outside and I can see fires."

Kabutops. So not a reanimated aerodactyl skeleton, then. Artemis breathes out. Thank god. She really, really didn't want to be right about that. This kabutops and its companion are bad news, clearly, but not as bad as breach.

"Right. We'd better get― ah yes, of course. Forgive me, Ms Apanchomene, I'm going to have to cut this short. If you'd like, come back tomorrow and I can give you more detailed feedback."

"Oh, it's fine," says Artemis hurriedly. "This seems, uh, this seems important. So. You know."

"Thank you for your understanding." Blaine nods and shakes her hand once more. "I'll leave you in Merle's hands. Avery, get Zac and have him prep Rico for flight immediately …"

He walks off, talking animatedly, and his espeon, after locking eyes unsettlingly with Artemis for a moment, paces along after him. There is a second or two during which nobody knows what to do, and then Merle claps his hands together briskly.

"Well, while Blaine's off dealing with that," he says, "let me congratulate you on behalf of the Gym, Artemis, Brauron."

"Thanks," she replies, stooping to collect Brauron from the ground. She's still hot, but not enough to burn. She's bleeding where she was bitten, too, although not much, and she doesn't seem to care.. The doctor back in Pallet was right. Pokémon really are tough. "I … I think I should go back to the Centre now."

"Sounds like a plan," agrees Merle. "Well, come on back whenever, you hear? Always happy to teach what we can."

Artemis steps out of the spotlights and back into the dimness of the rest of the hall. Most of the audience are leaving, probably heading outside to see what's going on down in the town, but Cass is right there, grinning from ear to ear like she was the one who just won.

"That was _great!_ " she cries, as Artemis approaches, cradling Brauron. "You two were so good! Like I don't even know how you could _see_ , with all that smoke, and then when you like lit Brauron's tail in the dude's _mouth_ , man, that was incredible." Ringo squawks and beats his wings, flicking her hair with his feathers. "Yeah, see, Ringo agrees," says Cass. "That was awesome."

Her enthusiasm is infectious, and even through her worry about what is happening down at the Fuji Labs Artemis finds herself smiling back at her.

"I dunno," she says. "I mostly just dodged and waited for the poison to work."

"Hey, you _won_ ," replies Cass. "And on your first go! Who even does that?"

"A lot of people, probably."

"Not that many." Cass shakes her head. "Okay, first of all let's like take Brauron to the Centre, then we gotta do something to celebrate. Like, uh, I dunno, but we'll think of something."

"Okay, okay, if you say so," replies Artemis. "C'mon, then. Let's go."

In her arms, too tired for once to cling onto her, Brauron looks up at her and croaks quietly, exhausted but triumphant. Artemis smiles down at her, so proud of her that it hurts, so amazed that it worked, above all so relieved that she made it through okay, and then she follows Cass out through the entrance hall into the bright light of a Cinnabar afternoon.

She has never really won anything before. If this is what it's like, she thinks, she could definitely get used to it.

* * *

On their way down from the Gym, Artemis and Cass have plenty of opportunity to confirm Avery's story for themselves: there really are fires. They don't look big, but there is definitely smoke rising from somewhere near where the Fuji Labs are.

"I hope everybody's okay down there," says Cass, staring. "What do you think got out?"

"Dunno," replies Artemis, pushing hard at the rising guilt. It's not her. She didn't do this. She _might_ have caused the scyther, if that really was breach, but this is just rogue dinosaurs.

"Everything in the zoo seemed like tame," says Cass. "Must be something else."

"Yeah." Artemis pauses, tries to think of some way to lighten the mood. "You think they have a tyrantrum in there?"

"Man, I … was gonna say _hope so_ , but considering things are breaking out right now? No, no I definitely don't hope so." Cass shakes her head. "Probably not, I guess. The whole town would probably already be destroyed if there was."

"Optimistic of you."

"You know me. I'm just a big ol' ray of sunshine."

Artemis laughs then, despite herself.

"Yeah," she says. "You really are."

"Think I'll take that as a compliment," says Cass. "Hey, Ringo, don't fly too far ahead, okay? Remember that big pidgeot lives round here somewhere."

Just then, a huge shadow passes overhead with a roar of displaced air, and Artemis' heart leaps half out of her chest; she looks up and sees the vast batwinged silhouette of a dragon, the tip of its tail too bright to focus on, and as her pulse settles she realises it's Blaine and company, heading down to the town on a charizard. In her arms, Brauron stirs and hisses, hiding her head in Artemis' hand. Apparently she knows the shadow of a predator when she sees it.

"Whoa," breathes Cass, open-mouthed, as Ringo takes off after it, flapping wildly and shrieking his head off. "You know what? I changed my mind. Tyrantrum or not, I think he's got it covered."

"They're rock-types, though," says Artemis, as the dragon soars out ahead of them, its riders standing out like toys against the sky. "And charizard's fire/flying."

"Yeah, but it's _Blaine_ ," argues Cass. "And I don't think tyrantrum are like known for their grasp of strategy."

As she speaks, Ringo tumbles out of the air and lands awkwardly in a tree, then immediately takes off again, apparently convinced that if he tries hard enough he can catch and defeat the charizard by himself.

Artemis nods.

"Okay, you have a point there. Uh, is Ringo coming back?"

"Huh? Oh. Ringo, quit chasing the charizard! It's got work to do and you're not gonna catch it." He slows, and with obvious reluctance wheels around to fly back. "C'mere, buster," calls Cass, holding out her hand. "You've caused enough trouble for one day."

He lands with his usual lack of elegance, adding fresh scratches to the collection Cass is growing on her wrist. Artemis sometimes wonders how she can stand it, although in a sense she understands; she herself is used to getting slightly burned by Brauron.

"He's getting better at flying, huh," she says. "Remember in Viridian he only ever flew like ten feet at a time?"

"Yeah," agrees Cass. "Guess I must be doing _something_ right."

Artemis hears a noise behind her, and looks back.

"Car!"

There isn't really a pavement up here. She and Cass move to the side of the road, and a few seconds later a big white van with the League insignia on the side tears past at speed, down towards the town.

"Look at that," says Cass. "Backup and everything. I bet by the time we get down there it's all gonna be over."

They keep walking. After about fifteen minutes, they leave the road for the trail, and a few minutes after that, coming around a bend and out of the other side of an olive grove, they see that the smoke has gone.

"What'd I tell you?" Cass spreads her arms, as if it were her who made it disappear. "Blaine's got it covered."

"Maybe it wasn't a tyrantrum."

Cass makes a face.

"That is totally beside the point," she says. "Come on, we can check what it was when we get back."

Back at the Centre, Artemis takes the now-sleeping Brauron to the clinic and, after some persuasion from the doctors that she really will be okay on her own, leaves her there to be treated. Fighting a vague sense of guilt at abandoning her, she makes her way to the lounge and finds Cass and a group of kids watching the news on TV as it unfolds.

"… some unidentified move, setting the vehicle ablaze," the newscaster is saying, over footage of firefighters directing a blastoise to douse a burning car. No sign of any dinosaurs, but Artemis supposes they haven't had a chance to get any footage of the rampage as it happened yet. Back to the studio, and the newscaster looking grave behind her desk. "For those of you just joining us, this is the news that two unknown creatures broke loose from the Fuji Resequencing Laboratories, just minutes ago," she says. "Eyewitness descriptions are confused but appear to agree that one is some form of kabutops. The creatures broke through the front wall and proceeded directly down Mercer Street via Haverdell Road, destroying several parked vehicles and walls in their way, before being engaged and captured by a force from Cinnabar Gym, working in conjunction with the police. No casualties have been reported. We'll bring you more as it happens."

Cut back to the footage of the scene: camera panning over scattered bricks and smashed cars, cops standing around, talking urgently and setting up police tape. It looks bad, but Artemis clings to what the presenter said. No casualties. Maybe the kabutops just wanted to break things.

"They really tore the place up, huh," says Cass, noticing her standing there. "Like that's a hole in the _road_ there. How mad do you have to be to take a swing at the damn _ground?_ "

"I guess pretty mad," says Artemis. The newscaster is starting to repeat herself, evidently out of facts. "I'm glad nobody got hurt."

"Yeah." Cass gets up, and Ringo flies to her shoulder from the back of the sofa. "But like, unexpected roadworks aside, Artemis, I think I said something about a celebration."

"Huh?" Right, the Gym battle. The Gym battle that happened twenty minutes ago and which, what with everything else, Artemis had somehow just managed to forget. It comes back now, that rush and that thrill, and she finds herself smiling a little, despite the devastated street onscreen. "Oh yeah, you did."

"Damn right I did! So come on, let's go, I'll buy you ice cream."

"You don't have to―"

"Oh, come _on_ ," says Cass, grabbing her arm and steering her out of the room. "You can buy me some when I win _my_ first badge, how about that?"

"Uh," says Artemis, wondering if Cass noticed her flinching at the sudden physical contact. "Uh, um, okay, I …"

Her voice rises. She tries very hard not to yank her arm out of Cass' hand and somehow succeeds.

"Hey, whoa, what's up?" asks Cass, staring. "You look like―"

"Please let go of me," says Artemis, unable to stop herself. Her voice comes out thin and small and strained. Cass does as she asks, and takes a step back, looking lost.

"I – I'm sorry," she says. "I didn't … are you okay?"

"Yes," replies Artemis. "I mean no. I mean – I'm fine." She closes her eyes, breathes in and out. "Sorry," she says. "I'm … I get nervous."

It is the most inadequate way of putting it she's ever come up with. There is a silence, and then after a moment she opens her eyes to see Cass standing there, eyes full of concern.

"Yeah," she says slowly. "I … did kinda notice a couple things."

Is it time to have The Conversation? Artemis wants to believe she could tell Cass, that she would see her exactly the same afterwards as she does now, but honestly she has only ever met one person who did that, and even she doesn't get it right all the time, sometimes looks at Artemis not as a friend but as a crazy person. It hurts, in some ways as much as the girl thing hurts. And Artemis doesn't want to end up making Cass look at her like that too.

But she can't just lie. Not if they're going to travel together. Can she?

God, she doesn't know. Why do things have to be so complicated?

"Anxiety," she says in the end, which is at least only a lie by omission. "Kinda quite bad, actually. You've … probably seen me taking my meds."

Cass nods.

"Yeah," she says. "I have."

Pause. Someone comes in through the doors and walks up to reception, begins to talk to the woman on duty. The newscaster repeats her few facts in the next room.

"You still wanna get ice cream?" asks Cass, eventually, and Artemis half laughs. Not a happy laugh – verging on hysterical, honestly – but a laugh.

"Yeah," she says. "Okay."

* * *

There aren't a lot of positives to this situation, but at least this time Emilia didn't have to take the boat.

More or less as soon as she stepped off the League togekiss, she and Nadia found themselves fighting a losing battle. Two goddamn _skeletons_ , broad daylight, several dozen witnesses, most of them with phones and cameras. It's on YouTube, it's on Facebook, and as soon as someone emails the video to KNBC it's going to be on the national news, too. This isn't something she can contain – and even if she could, she isn't sure she would want to; these things smashed their way down three streets before the cops and Blaine's team managed to stop them, and it was damn lucky that there weren't any casualties. People have a right to that kind of information, whatever the League says. Emilia is always glad when something like this happens in a way that means it can't be completely suppressed, although she is self-aware enough about it to ask herself dryly if she's done salving her conscience.

Fortunately, the Labs themselves are in lockdown after the incident; there are journalists sniffing around – including Mark Trelawney, although how he managed to get out here so quickly Emilia isn't sure – but none will get through the cordon of police and pokémon. That buys her time to make her rounds, briefing key figures on what and what not to say, Nadia gauging how likely people are to play ball. The mayor's office and the Gym trainers are okay; at the police station, the cops remember her from the other night, and she flags them as potential risks. Emilia makes a mental note to speak with Blaine later. Hopefully they'll listen to him.

The official line will be possession. Ghost-types do this kind of thing, sometimes – get themselves inside objects and take them for a ride. They don't normally set fire to anything while they do it, but it does happen; that was the crux of that Cryptstalker Corvax nonsense, after all. There are going to be questions directed at the Fuji Labs themselves, of course, but they've got their own lawyers, all of whom will doubtless be contacting Emilia over the next couple of days, and honestly she sees no reason not to leave them to look after themselves. It's not like they know what this really is, after all.

Emilia doesn't even know herself yet, but she's got a hunch, of course, and at this point she's on her way back up to the Gym to make sure. After Blaine and his team put an end to their rampage, the two creatures were taken up there to await the pickup crew and transferral to a secure facility. Emilia hopes they don't break out. Given that it's literally a fortress, she thinks they probably won't, but then again, she just saw the building they went through after leaving the Labs, and that wasn't a pretty sight. Whatever they are, these things are a force to be reckoned with.

In the car with her are a couple of Blaine's trainers, Avery and Zac. She finds herself thinking of them as kids, but of course they're in their early twenties. Emilia is just getting – not old, exactly, she has a while to go before she gets there, but older. It's probably fine. Older is wiser. Some of the time, anyway. Or it means that you've seen a few more things, at least.

The two trainers look tired, and very pale underneath their Cinnabar tan. Emilia makes polite conversation, tries to nudge their spirits upwards a little with some soothingly dull professionalism, and by the time Zac stops the car outside the Gym both he and Avery seem to be over the worst of it. Emilia suspects that what they've seen today will come back to them, later tonight when there are no distractions, but this is as much as she can do for them right now. Zac goes to take the car around to the garage, and Avery leads her inside through the impressive entryway and down some less impressive corridors to what used to be the castle's dungeons.

"We've got them down here for now," he says, as they make their way down a narrow, twisting stairway. "Hoping they won't, uh, you know. Get out."

"That seems very sensible," she replies, mostly because she feels he expects her to say something. "Lead on, Avery."

He does, and soon they come to a low, dark corridor, with heavy metal doors set into the walls. It's warm down here, and Emilia wonders how deep into the volcano they really are.

"Just, uh, along here," says Avery, clicking on a torch. "Sorry about this, we don't come down here much and I guess nobody noticed the lights weren't working till today."

"It's all right."

Something thumps and scrapes, like stone dragging against stone. Emilia looks at Avery.

"That's them?"

"That's them," he confirms. "Uh, it's this door."

Emilia can tell. There's a faint purple light shining around its edges, and an espeon sitting calmly outside, eyes closed.

"Barrier?" she asks. "We can look in there?"

"Yeah. Just, um, maybe be careful?"

Emilia smiles reassuringly.

"Of course."

The door is heavy and the hinges thick with rust. Between the two of them, they manage to haul it open, and Emilia peers through the slight distortion of the psychic barrier beyond to see the skeletons.

Two of them. One aerodactyl, all fingers and teeth, and one kabutops, slabs of shell grinding against one another as it moves. The aerodactyl is currently crouched and immobile, while the kabutops paces and slashes at the air.

Emilia stares. She'd seen the video, of course, but it's another thing to actually see them. It's not even like these are bones; they're _fossils_ , without any relation to the living creature but their shape, and yet there they are, stalking around like they haven't spent the last few million years buried in the earth's crust.

As she watches the kabutops suddenly locks up, freezing into position, and the aerodactyl begins to move instead, stumping around on all fours like some huge demonic bat.

"You see that?" asks Avery. "They just – it's like only one of them can move at a time. There's that little shimmer, and― yeah, like that!"

The aerodactyl pauses mid-step, and now Emilia is watching she notices it: a little ripple in its substance, like the bands of static on a rewinding VHS tape. And a matching ripple in the kabutops, and then it starts to move again.

"They can't see us?" she asks.

"I don't think so," says Avery. "They don't have eyes. They weren't really attacking people, thank god, just … like if they felt something in their way, they broke it."

The kabutops hits the far wall face-first and recoils, twitching like a broken puppet, then lashes out with both blades. Emilia expects it to bounce, but the fossilised claws just go straight through with a sound like a mine collapsing, gouging huge chips of stone that shatter on the floor. She has to suppress the urge to take a step back: Avery could really use someone who seems confident right now, and anyway she is mostly sure that it can't cut through the barrier.

 _STATIC_ , says Nadia, sending her a mental reminder of the way Oak and his pokémon were impervious to psychic attack, and Emilia curses under her breath. Right. Of course. Well, she's committed now; if it sees her she'll just have to slam the door and hope it holds.

"It's impressive, isn't it?" she remarks.

"One word for it," replies Avery.

The kabutops seems to have got one claw stuck in the wall. It tries to pull it free, then gives up halfway through and freezes again. This time, however, the aerodactyl doesn't move, and Emilia frowns.

"What's that?"

"We don't know," says Avery nervously. "Sometimes they both just … stop. That's how we got them in the van, actually."

Emilia's scowl deepens. Something about this isn't right. But it isn't immediately obvious what, and honestly this is not a field she knows all that much about, so perhaps it's best if she just does what she came here to do, files a report and leaves this for someone more qualified to deal with.

"Okay, Nadia," she says, lifting her from her shoulder. "You know what to do."

Not a trace this time: Emilia doesn't need to see the past, or the future. She closes her eyes and looks into the darkness, expecting to see the mangled shapes and pixellated static that marks out breach – but both the kabutops and the aerodactyl are curiously absent.

Eyes open. There they are, still and silent. They haven't just run off or dematerialised. Eyes closed – and nothing.

"Nadia," she says. "What am I looking at here?"

 _STONES_ , replies Nadia. _TRY UP._

"Okay …"

Emilia moves her head, and then she sees it: a fat, flickering block of interference shaped something like a backwards L, hovering by what must be the ceiling of the cell. As soon as she sees it, the thing seems to notice; it writhes and pulses, body spiking out in uncanny jags and bars, and dives straight downwards. Emilia opens her eyes quickly and jumps back from the doorway, Nadia fluttering away in alarm―

Nothing.

"What is it?" Avery starts to ask, but Emilia holds up a hand to stop him, steps cautiously back towards the door.

 _Nadia_ , she thinks, and a second later the little natu flaps somewhat sheepishly back onto her wrist. _Okay. Ready?_

… _YES._

Every fearful instinct in her body tells her not to, but she shuts her eyes again – and there it is, the wriggling L thing, phasing in and out of existence on the floor. Again, it seems to take exception to being looked at; it shoots straight back up to the ceiling, and when Emilia follows it once more it disappears altogether.

She opens her eyes, and sees the aerodactyl stomping around, snapping its jaws and occasionally smashing its skull into the wall.

 _Nadia_ , she thinks, trying to work out what it is she's just seen without alerting Avery to the fact that she's as confused as he is. _Any ideas?_

 _NO_.

"All right," she sighs. "I thought so." She returns Nadia to her shoulder, glances at Avery. "Would you help me shut this door? Thanks."

It thumps back into place curiously gently, the noise muffled by the psychic barrier, and they start to make their way back up the staircase.

"So is it bad?" asks Avery, hesitantly.

"Nothing we haven't seen before," lies Emilia reassuringly. "The team will be here soon. In fact, that's probably the helicopter now."

The sound of rotors filters faintly down through the rock. Emilia leaves Avery in the lobby and steps outside to see the helicopter lowering itself down into the car park. Moments later, the noise dies as it winds down, and a group of people wearing body armour and carrying strange machines climb out.

 _LOOK_ , says Nadia suddenly, and replays one of Emilia's memories for her: Giovanni and his crew in the Viridian North police station, the men and women carrying their testing equipment.

"These are the official League people, Nadia," says Emilia, scanning their faces as they approach and not recognising any. "I don't think …"

 _LOOK_ , repeats Nadia, and again the memory flashes before her: Giovanni meeting her, asking a woman named Abby to go on ahead and take charge. The image pauses unnaturally, the woman's face expanding until Emilia can think of nothing else – and then it fades, and Emilia blinks as she stumbles back into the present moment.

"What do you …?"

She doesn't finish. She doesn't have to. Right there, directing the other members of the crisis team as they unload the equipment, is that same woman.

The sunlight goes cold for an instant, and Emilia starts to make the connections. Who would be absent from the records of Lorelei's employees? Someone who doesn't officially work for her, of course, someone who is, technically, not directly part of any of the four League departments.

"Someone on the damn crisis team," murmurs Emilia. "So she gets the reports of every breach event, she has access to all the tech at the secure facility, she … god _damn_ it, of course." Her bearing shifts, grows straighter and more businesslike. "Good work, Nadia," she says quietly, watching the crisis team approach, the first of them already calling out to her. "Now let's see what we can find."

She moves forward with a serious face to intercept the team as they approach.

"Nadia, get ready," she murmurs, and then calls out: "Excuse me. Are you in charge?"

Abby looks at her. Neither Emilia nor Nadia detect any hint of recognition in her eye.

"Yes," she replies. "Who's asking?"

"Emilia Santangelo. Legal―"

"Lorelei's terrier," says Abby, nodding. "Yeah, I've heard of you."

"I see my reputation precedes me," says Emilia, shaking her hand. "And you are?"

"Abigail Grahame," she answers. "Special Containment. What can I do for you?"

 _FURRET MAN_ , crows Nadia, exultant, and beneath her carefully blank face Emilia shouts out with her.

"I have a report to deliver," she says, and begins to reel off the relevant information. Breach, one entity, two bodies; not aggressive, just breaks whatever is in its path; no real range to speak of, possible use of moves but exact type unknown; no apparent senses other than touch. In the dungeons. Here, let me show you the way …

She takes Abigail and her team inside, points out the way down to the dungeons while wide-eyed Gym staff look nervously at their guns and equipment, and as soon as they are all through the door to the staircase she turns away, smiling grimly.

Giovanni is still going to take some work to pin down; he might be being questioned, but he's a slippery bastard, and he won't implicate himself if he can help it. But now Emilia knows who A. Grahame is, and where she works, and now she can pull up her record and hand it over to the internal review team for processing. And then she'll find out whether Abigail Grahame is as good at slithering out of things as her boss. Because if she isn't – and there is every chance that this is the case – then that might just be their way in.

 _CRIMES_ , says Nadia.

"Yes," agrees Emilia. "Make a note for when I get back. We've got a few more favours to call in."

* * *

There is a gelato shop positioned near the Pokémon Centre for pretty much this exact eventuality. It's crowded and noisy, full of an explosive mixture of tourists, kid trainers and assorted pokémon; Cass and Artemis take one look at it and decide to get theirs to go.

"I always get like this," says Cass, looking glumly from her cone to Artemis'. "I think I know what I want and then whoever's with me gets theirs and I'm like, I wish I'd got that."

Artemis smiles, and mostly means it, but says nothing. They walk for a little while, Cass occasionally pausing to push Ringo's beak away from her ice cream, and then stop when they reach the square to sit by the fountain. On the corner is the café Artemis ate in with Emilia yesterday. It feels like much longer ago, somehow.

All around them, the town moves: holidaymakers and locals, kids, seagulls, pidgey. A small tortoiseshell cat and an equally small tabby meowth sunning themselves on a step.

"You'd never guess there were dinosaurs loose on the other side of town, huh," remarks Cass.

"Nope," replies Artemis.

Pause. The paving-stones are dazzling in the sunlight, even through Artemis' sunglasses. She's heard it's going to be one of the hottest summers on record. Already she's more tanned than she's ever been in her life; a couple more months of hiking in this weather, and she might even look vaguely like her mother's daughter.

"I … haven't been honest with you," says Cass, looking carefully off at a trio of seagulls fighting over a stray chip. "I'm really sorry."

Artemis doesn't look at her, either.

"Yeah?" she asks, crunching her cone.

"Yeah."

The gulls flap and mewl. A pidgey, swaggering over to claim the chip for itself with the bravado of a pokémon among animals. Immediately, the gulls stop their bickering and unite briefly to flap and shriek at it until it flies off, abashed, and they can go back to arguing.

"I've kinda wanted to say for a while now," says Cass. "'Cause, well, it doesn't feel right, you know? I mean, I wasn't a hundred per cent convinced I was okay with this anyway, and like … you're like a nice person, right, and I'm really not sure I'm doing the right thing."

Artemis stays silent. Something inside her is starting to scream.

"Sorry," says Cass. "I'm avoiding the point, I know." She takes a deep breath, and turns to face her. "You know I get those calls from my aunt?"

Artemis nods. She'd say yes, but her throat seems to have seized up.

"Well, she's … not really checking up on me. Truth is, I'm calling her. Because she asked me to. Back when she told me you were going to be walking through Viridian Forest and could I join up with you and tell her if anything weird happened."

Cass says the last sentence all in one go, far too fast. Her ice cream is trickling down her hand, unnoticed.

The seagulls keep on fighting. They don't notice when a fourth gull stalks up and takes the chip away while their backs are turned.

Artemis breathes out, slow and careful.

"Thank you for telling me," she says.

Cass hesitates before answering.

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

Even Ringo is quiet now, sensing the mood. Artemis wishes she had Brauron here with her to hold.

"What happened?" she asks.

"I dunno, really. My aunt, she works with some League team, I think. Like I never really paid attention. But when I was in Pewter she called me up and said there was some special project going on, that she was tracking some outbreak of weird phenomena, and that like there was this trainer she thought was connected somehow. And I told her that sounded crazy, but like she swore and she never swears, so I guess … I guess I thought she was serious." Cass sighs. "I dunno. I just … it just seemed so important. She said it was a threat to national security, and like she needed proof, and she had a report that the trainer was going south through the forest on the, the whatever that trail's called, and could I go and join up with – well, uh, she said _him_ so I guess she's an asshole as well as a liar."

Artemis flinches again, imagining a fat file full of data on her in whatever secret lair Giovanni's team operates from, hundreds and hundreds of pages of wrong pronouns and deadnames, and out of the corner of her eye sees Cass reaching out tentatively, pulling back again, mouth working silently.

What a fucking joke. She doesn't convince anyone, does she? They see her and they say _she_ so politely to her face and then they go away and laugh with their friends at the guy in the dress. You saw Giovanni's report about that freak in Viridian Forest? Yeah, I know, who does he think he's fooling, shoulders like that? And _Artemis_ , seriously? Yeah, right. A classical goddess he is not.

"Sorry," says Cass, after a while. "You didn't want or need to know that. I – yeah. Sorry. I just say the worst things sometimes."

Artemis moves her head slightly. Even she isn't sure whether it's a nod or a shake.

"And?" she asks quietly.

"And … and she told me to make friends with you, report where you went and call her if anything weird happened. Which it did. So like I started to believe her more, and I called her and told her stuff. About the – the horrible ghost thing on the moors, and the scyther, and … uh, when you went out at two am the other night dressed like you were gonna break in somewhere."

A soft crack, a cool stickiness; Artemis blinks and sees that she has crushed the remnants of her cone in her hand, ice cream oozing through her fingers. She makes no move to get up or throw it away.

"You, uh, you …" Cass trails off uncertainly. "I guess you know."

Artemis can feel the tears coming. She seems to be standing a long, long way off, watching her body twitch and leak and drip ice cream from its clenched fist.

"They arrested me," she says, voice cracking. "And they – if that League lady hadn't …"

She lowers her head, folds her face into her clean hand. It's the ugly kind of crying, the sort that tears weird hoarse noises from your throat and makes you choke. She feels Cass sitting, staring, torn between wanting to help and being afraid to touch her, and then at last she seems to make up her mind and leans in to put her arm around her.

"I'm so sorry," she says, sounding close to tears herself. "I'm just – I completely fucked up, I'm so sorry. Here, I – I think I got a tissue somewhere. Just, uh, gimme your ice cream, I think it's kinda ruined …"

An indeterminate amount of time passes. Artemis pulls herself together, more roughly than is fair to herself, and wipes her eyes and nose. She feels disgusting, and too afraid to take her eyes off the ground at her feet in case it turns out everyone in Cinnabar has piled into the square to stare at her.

"Are you okay?" asks Cass. She nods. "Okay. Okay, that's good. Do – do you wanna go back to the Centre?" She nods again. "Okay. Let's … do that. I'm, um, gonna let go of you now."

They get up. They walk, very slowly, back towards the Pokémon Centre.

Artemis does not lift her gaze from the pavement even once along the way. She is afraid that she will see a ghost person if she does.


	13. 0D: Human Error

**0D: HUMAN ERROR**

Artemis would like to hate Cass. It would make everything so much easier. But unfortunately, she doesn't think she can manage it.

She thinks it over, while she washes her face in the bathroom and tries to fix her make-up. It's very tempting, hating Cass. She's been working with them, whoever they are; she got her arrested that night. Just like Emilia said, someone tipped off the cops: Cass called her aunt called the station. Cass is one of the reasons that this awfulness keeps following her.

But she also picked her up after she fell apart just now and took her back to the Centre. And she was genuinely delighted that Artemis won against Blaine. And she changed her mind and told her everything and – and she's just a nice person. Not very tactful, maybe, and sort of naïve, but nice.

Or maybe she isn't, Artemis reminds herself. Maybe all that was a lie too.

She sighs and unbends from over the sink. She can't do it, she just can't. Perhaps she isn't cut out for hate.

Either way, she's going to have to talk to her eventually. So. Time to get her head together and go back out there.

Cass is sitting on her bed, fiddling nervously with her bracelets and watching Ringo bashing his toy kabuto against the pillow.

"Hey," she says. "You feeling better?"

Artemis nods.

"I guess."

A silence without grace or warmth. Artemis sits down on her own bed, not wanting to be tall.

"So," she says. "I … I guess I should tell you what's going on."

"Like you don't have to," Cass tells her. "I mean – I did kinda lie to you. A lot. And spy on you for the government."

Artemis shakes her head.

"I don't … I dunno. Were you lying about being nice to me?"

It's hard to get the words out. Part of the reason that this hurts is that Artemis has in fact suspected people of this in the past, of faking their affection for her for sinister ends, and while it has always turned out to be a delusion the fact that it really has happened now seems like a horrible kind of vindication.

"Um …"

Cass' hesitation hurts even more. Artemis finds herself hunching, twisting away from her.

"No, no," cries Cass, face reddening. "Not like that, I mean – I dunno, maybe I wouldn't have hung out with you if my aunt hadn't told me to, but … you're cool." She shrugs awkwardly. "Like I expected to have to fake it, especially when I … when we first met, but then it turned out I didn't have to, you know? Once I actually started talking to you, I liked you. That's kinda why I felt bad about it, and I guess – I guess today, with the Gym and everything, you won so convincingly and you looked like you were too scared to admit it in case it somehow turned out to not be true, and like when I saw that I just thought I really couldn't lie to that kinda person any more."

So Artemis is that easy to see through after all. She overestimated herself. Or maybe she underestimated Cass; clearly she's more observant than she lets on.

She doesn't know what to say. Is she meant to judge Cass based on her original motives, or the actual kindness she stumbled her way into? It's so much more complicated than it's supposed to be – but then, everything always is, right, so what did she expect? It's like home, or her brain, or her body, or the League. Nothing is ever generous enough to mean just one thing.

She sighs.

"I dunno if I forgive you," she says at last. "But I think we're friends. So. You know."

"That's … fair," says Cass. "That's fair. And, um, I'm glad. I thought we were friends too."

Another silence. This one feels a little less threatening, and deep in the pit of it Artemis finally makes up her mind.

"Okay," she says. "So like I said, I'm gonna tell you what happened."

* * *

Cass is, to put it mildly, floored.

" _What_."

"Yeah," says Artemis. "Me too, I guess."

She said everything, in the end, or everything relevant, anyway; she left out her reasons for leaving home and started with the trip out to the woods with Jerry. Probably Cass has guessed about the rest of it, anyway, considering how easily she seems to have figured Artemis out.

Cass shakes her head, open-mouthed.

"I mean … I mean really?"

"Yeah," says Artemis. "Really."

"Okay. Yes. Sorry, I believe you, it's just … wow. What the hell."

"It's okay. It's pretty weird."

"Yeah, you can say that again." Cass pauses, and when she speaks again she sounds more present. "Okay. Okay, so I guess the question is what now."

Artemis nods. For some reason it feels hard to weigh in on this.

"I mean I – I guess if that diary is for real we should go find Dr Fuji?" Cass suggests. "Or tell that League lady about him? Or like – like maybe not, I dunno, it all sounds so ridiculous when I say it. But like it's real. It just doesn't feel that way."

"Yeah, I know. I …" Artemis thought she had more, but as it turns out she doesn't. It feels so strange for this to finally be out of her head, in the real world, affecting other people. Almost as strange as if Cass started seeing the ghost people.

"Or maybe you don't want to talk about that right now," says Cass. "God, I'm sorry, I'm rushing things, aren't I? Let's not … let's just not." She pauses, takes a breath. "Okay. Let's go get Brauron, and then this time let's not screw around with ice cream, let's just get a damn drink."

She means it. She does, doesn't she? She means it, because she's nice, and that's both why she decided to oblige her aunt and why she's decided to jump ship now. There's no malice there. Or okay, there might be, there always _might_ be, but being logical (difficult as that might be), there probably isn't.

"That – that sounds like a plan," says Artemis, speaking over the tumult in her head, trying to silence it. "Um. Cass?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

Cass looks serious and shakes her head.

"Nah, I think I owe you pretty big," she says (and means it? Or not?). "Come on, I'm buying."

Downstairs, Brauron is ready to go: still sleepy, but the bite marks on her tail are fading with supernatural speed. By tomorrow morning, there won't even be scars, although Artemis is told she should take it easy for a little while, to let her recover her energy. She says okay and takes her back eagerly, settling her against her chest in the crook of her arm, where she promptly falls asleep.

"God, she is just _super_ cute, huh," observes Cass. "Ringo, are you taking notes? This is how you endear yourself to people."

He squawks and nips at her ear.

"Yeah, okay buster, I love you too."

It's not hard to find an open bar here, even at this time of day; this is holiday season, and a huge number of people are currently present in Cinnabar looking for fun. Cass buys two colourful-looking cocktails of dubious composition in a seafront bar occupied by a number of young tourists determinedly filling themselves with holiday spirit, and sits with Artemis at a table outside, away from the noise.

"To, uh, weird shit," says Cass, raising her glass. "And being honest."

Artemis raises her own glass back, and they drink.

"'S nice," remarks Cass, smacking her lips. "I have no idea what it's supposed to taste like, but I like it."

"Mango," says Artemis, relieved to have something she can be certain of for once. "And lime. Not sure what else. It _is_ nice, though, you're right."

A slow, restful minute without words. On the beach below, kids shout and run back and forth, playing with growlithe and house-pinsir: two of Kanto's most popular pets, along with meowth. Beyond them, the water is thick with splashing holidaymakers. Only a few of the growlithe will go more than a foot or so in, but the pinsir seem to like it, bobbing around on the water's surface like huge thorny corks. As Artemis watches, one dives underwater and comes up holding a starfish gently in between its massive horns. It examines it carefully for a moment, poking at it with clawed hands, and then places it delicately on its head, like a hat.

"Hey," she says, pointing. "See that pinsir?"

"That is just _adorable_ ," says Cass, following her finger. "We had a pinsir when I was a kid. He was really sweet, although there was this one time he gripped too hard climbing a tree and accidentally cut it down." She glances at Artemis. "What about you? Any pets?"

No, Artemis has never had a pet. They are expensive, for one thing. And for another, she has been too ill for too long: while she had leukaemia, nobody in her family had the time or inclination to take on even more responsibility, and then after that terrible night and the intervention of the mental health crisis team, nobody trusted her to look after anything anyway, not even herself. But this is a long and tedious story that will just alienate Cass and force her to feel sorry for her, so instead Artemis just shakes her head.

"No, none," she says. "Just never happened."

"Okay," Cass replies. "That's fine too."

Sip, and stare. The edges of the waves glitter where the sun catches them. Far out to sea, a speedboat zooms over the water. Curled up in Artemis' lap, Brauron snuffles in her sleep.

Whatever your opinion of Cass, you can't deny she knows how to relax. Artemis feels like something inside her is melting in the summer heat and the buzz of the alcohol in her head. It's not a bad feeling in the slightest.

"I think I should call Emilia," she says, after a few minutes. "I'm not sure I should really try and solve this one on my own."

Cass nods.

"One correction," she says. "You're not sure _we_ should be trying to solve it on _our_ own."

Artemis smiles, disbelieving, touched. Cass betrayed her: that's not something she can deny, nor that Artemis can forget. But she seems like she wants to make up for it. And given how thoughtless she can be, Artemis thinks she might just mean it.

"Really?"

"Sure," says Cass. "I mean, I think I'm involved anyway, since my aunt set me up and all. I might as well be involved on the right side, y'know?"

"You think mine is the right side?"

"That's usually how these things go down, right? Secret government conspiracy equals bad guys, plucky young trainer equals good guys."

"… 'plucky'?"

"Hell yeah, plucky! I mean, I think. I'll admit I'm not a hundred per cent sure what it means, but I'm like pretty sure you've got it. Whatever it is."

Artemis has to laugh at that. She means it, doesn't she? And – well, Artemis will be watching her closely. If she _doesn't_ mean it, she'll figure it out this time, and then maybe she'll learn how to hate.

"O- _kay_ ," she says. "I'll take it as a compliment."

"Neat." Cass beams. "So. Let's sit here, drink these drinks and maybe a couple more, and then … then let's call your League lawyer and see what we do next."

"You got it," says Artemis. "Cheers."

They clink glasses across the table. Brauron sticks her head up at the sound, suddenly alert.

"Well, look who's back with us," says Artemis, booping her affectionately on the nose. "Sleep well?"

Brauron licks her eyes and holds out her arms expectantly, waiting to be picked up.

"Guess that's a yes, then," says Artemis, hugging her gently to her chest. "C'mere, you."

Warm light and a cold drink. The beach, the water. Cass. Ringo. Brauron hot against her heart, like a shard of summer.

There's danger ahead for sure. Giovanni is out there, and so are the monsters. But there's a trainer journey too, with friends and companions and everything that entails.

Artemis is not brave, is on some deep level as scared as ever; she doesn't even know if she trusts everyone she's sitting here with. But right this second, at this table in this wash of sunlight, she is at peace. And that, for now at least, is all she could really ask for.

* * *

There's not a lot left to do in Cinnabar – honestly, sending Emilia was probably overkill; the only reason she can think of to have her personally oversee this one was because she already knew about breach – but Emilia doesn't leave right away. This is partly because she's waiting for the right moment to ask Blaine if one of his trainers will fly her back (another ferry ride is _not_ high on her to-do list) and partly because, although no evidence has yet come up to suggest it, she has a sneaking suspicion that somehow, Artemis is involved.

It's not easy to come up with a way to find out for sure, however. She can't get into the Fuji Labs to ask if anyone answering to her description has been seen there, and when she drops in at the Pokémon Centre, all the clerk can tell her is that she is definitely still staying there, and that she won her first badge earlier today. This is impressive – training is a slower process than people realise, and most people aren't capable of beating a Leader without at least a couple of months of work – but it's not very helpful. Emilia smiles and nods and goes out again, silently cursing her luck.

About the only other option she has is trying to do a trace, and the Labs are still in lockdown while the police force's psy officers sweep the place for ghosts. It's very sensible, and Emilia can't fault them for doing it; members of the gengar family can spread out their gaseous bodies so thin they become effectively invisible, or concentrate themselves to fit into the tiniest crevices. Still, it's hard to have patience when she knows that all of it is completely unnecessary. Hopefully she'll be able to get in tomorrow. Which means another night on this island, unfortunately, but if that's what it takes to work out if Artemis is involved, then that's what she'll have to do.

It feels important that she do this. After their conversation the other day, Emilia is aware that she now has a kind of responsibility for Artemis' wellbeing. It isn't just the trans thing, either, although that's part of it. It's the fact that Artemis confided in her. She gave Emilia the information about Giovanni in the belief that Emilia could help, and now it's Emilia's responsibility to make sure that belief was not unfounded.

So Emilia tells herself, anyway. She sits in the smoky cocktail lounge of the only hotel she could find a room at – the very same room in the very same hotel, in fact, that she stayed in a couple of nights ago; the clerk at the desk recognised her and she had to smile and say something about business being weird – and drinks lemonade restlessly, waiting for the time to pass. These are the moments Emilia hates most, when there is nothing left to be done, no thinking or planning or manoeuvring. In these moments she has no work to do, and Emilia is too sharp not to know that she is guilty of substituting her job for a personality: without a task, she just sort of sits there, like an inactive robot.

It's her own simile. If anyone else pointed this out, she'd be offended. Coming from her, however, it just seems like common sense.

She sighs and checks her watch again. Not even seven. There's a long way to go yet before she might be able to fall asleep. A brief look around the room turns up nothing of particular interest; it's full of people and pokémon, doing people and pokémon things, but the thing is that Emilia watches people for her day job, and so people-watching has never really been her idea of a good recreational activity.

Just then, as if the universe itself is taking pity on her, her phone rings.

"Oh thank god," she murmurs, getting up and walking out to find somewhere quieter. "Yes? Emilia Santangelo speaking."

"Um, hi."

Emilia stops, right there in the doorway to the foyer. Someone bumps into her and swears and she hardly even notices.

"Hello, Artemis," she says slowly. "I wasn't expecting to hear from you so soon."

"I guess I wasn't expecting to call you, either." Artemis hesitates. "I … I'm really sorry, I didn't tell you everything."

"No?" Emilia heads out through the open doors into the hotel's inner courtyard. There are still people here, but not as many; it doesn't get much light at this time of day. "That's all right, Artemis. What exactly is the matter?"

"It's – well, um, it's that diary."

Nadia helpfully dials up the memory, but Emilia is one step ahead of her. She's already remembered, and moreover she's seen where this is going.

"That diary," she repeats. "Not _your_ diary?"

"Yeah," says Artemis. "Sorry, I didn't really mean to – I mean it was a weird night, and – and I hadn't even read it yet, so …"

"Hang on a second, Artemis. Slow down." Emilia finds a quiet corner and leans against a wall, in the shadow of a potted palm. "You found it in Cinnabar House, is that it?"

"Yeah. It belonged to Dr Fuji. You know, the dinosaur guy?"

"Yes, the dinosaur guy." Emilia glances at Nadia: _is this the link?_ Nadia looks back and broadcasts uncertainty. "What have you found?"

"It's kinda unclear, but like they were doing breach research in there," Artemis tells her. "And they made something? I think another breach entity, like one they thought they could control. But it broke out, and then … then they died. Except Dr Fuji. It left him alive for some reason, and then I think he went to Lavender."

Pause. She hasn't told Emilia anything that she doesn't already know. Perhaps it hasn't occurred to her that Emilia might have worked on that incident. Then again – there's something there, isn't there? Something Emilia hasn't yet considered. She thinks back over the last couple of days, trying to work out what it is she's sensing, but this time Nadia gets there first, and replays a snippet of her conversation with Lorelei:

 _Giovanni, he'd been heading it from the beginning … they were the ones behind the M entity._

"That's it," she mutters. "So if he was there from the start, he must have …"

Nadia caws, a noise she almost never makes and which she saves for her most extreme disapproval.

 _FURRET MAN_ , she seethes. Emilia can sense her memories behind the words, a jumble of near-incomprehensible avian pain and shock. The M entity was their first case working together, and even now, ten years on, it's probably still the bloodiest. Talk about a baptism of fire.

 _I know_ , Emilia thinks back at her. _I know_.

"Hello?" asks Artemis nervously. "Are you still there?"

"Yes, Artemis, my apologies. I just had to speak to my partner for a second."

"Nadia?"

Emilia is surprised, and Nadia is, despite her anger, delighted. Nobody ever remembers her name.

"Yes, Nadia. She wanted to remind me of something. I learned recently in the course of my own investigation that Giovanni was in charge of the project at Cinnabar House."

"So – wait, you _knew_ about it?"

"Yes, of course. I didn't know that it was breach until I started digging a few weeks ago, but I knew some entity had broken containment there." Emilia stops there: Artemis doesn't need to know any more than that, for now at least. She'd like to be totally honest with her, but if this is going to work then Artemis has to have some faith in her, and telling her that she's the one who led that cover-up is not the way to earn that faith. She'll tell her later, she promises herself. Just … not now. "It was quite a big deal back then. A lot of League personnel died. We had to respond."

"Oh." Artemis sounds – well, she sounds like she feels bad for not having realised this already, which is not ideal, but it's better than hostility. "I – I guess that makes sense."

"Yes," says Emilia slowly, thinking things through. Fuji could well know something that might shed light on Giovanni's current activities. Because that's the thing that's been bothering Emilia most: what exactly is he trying to do here? He's a League man, to the bone. He's politically conservative and a staunch believer in Kantan law and institution, and the email from Abigail Grahame confirms that ROCKETS has some pro-Kantan agenda – all that stuff about children's children and so forth. So he's not after chaos or fear; he wants to control breach, somehow, for Kantan benefit. It's that _somehow_ that's key. If Fuji can offer any guidance there, that could prove extremely useful: you can't counterattack if you don't know what moves your opponent is making.

But the thing is (because of course, there's _always_ something else), Fuji does not exactly care for the League these days. He was extremely uncooperative in the aftermath of the M entity incident, and frankly Emilia does not blame him. If League lawyers knock on his door asking questions, he's going to clam up tighter than an anxious shellder.

Which means … well. There is one way around that. And while Emilia would prefer it if Artemis stayed safely out of this, the truth is that she is already much too deep in it for there to be any hope of her escaping now. Besides, there shouldn't be anything dangerous about talking to one retired geneticist. Should there? No. There shouldn't.

"All right," she says. "All right, Artemis, here is a hypothetical suggestion, and I want to stress that it is _only_ hypothetical; I'm sure you know that I really can't encourage any investigation you might want to undertake on your own. I might be able to find Dr Fuji's address in our records. And I might be able to go and speak to him and ask him if he knows anything about all of this. But he wouldn't respond very well, because after what happened ten years ago he is understandably suspicious of League agents. But if I, while I was dropping into the Pokémon Centre, were to accidentally leave his address there … someone else might theoretically be able to find him and ask those questions."

A short pause.

"I see," says Artemis. She sounds afraid. Emilia waits, but apparently that's all.

"It's only a possibility," she says. "And if nobody picked up that address and found Dr Fuji – well, then the investigation would continue anyway, because it's already started. The League's internal review team is probably questioning Giovanni right now."

"It is?"

There is a trembling kind of hopefulness in Artemis' voice that makes Emilia angry in the same way she was the other night, when she got to the station and saw how scared she was. It's an old anger, the vicious sublimated fear of an anxious person who sees the size and ineluctability of the system pointing the gun at her head, and one she thought she had left behind with her old life, all those years ago. She shakes her head, trying to think her way through it, and says:

"Yes, it is." Pause. Keep it together; count to three. "If it isn't, they've got me to deal with."

"Okay. I mean – yeah, okay." Artemis hesitates. "There's, um … something else."

"Yes?"

"They were, uh, spying on me. Giovanni's people, I mean. The girl I'm travelling with, Cass, she – her aunt asked her to find me in Viridian Forest and report anything weird that happened."

Cass? If Emilia remembers the data from the Oak incident correctly, that would be Cassandra Grah―

" _Shit_ ," hisses Emilia, under her breath. Cassandra Grahame. Cassandra _Grahame_. How the hell did she miss that?

"What was that?"

"Nothing," she says, keeping her voice light. "I was just thinking. So you found out about this how?"

"She told me. She felt bad, she didn't know what was going on. I think I can trust her," Artemis adds defensively, and Emilia nods slowly.

"I'll trust your judgement on that," she says, not knowing if she believes herself. "Why were they spying on you? Do you know that?"

"There's … um, when Giovanni was scanning me, he dropped the instructions for his scanner. I found them on the ground later. I think he was looking for breach radiation? And it said like if you absorb a certain amount of breach radiation, more events are attracted to you, and, uh, I'm really really sorry I didn't say this before but―"

"It's all right," interrupts Emilia, as Artemis' voice begins to rise. "It's all right, Artemis, I don't blame you. I'm League, it's only natural you wouldn't trust me." She pauses, hears Artemis sniff. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"You're very welcome." Emilia considers, tapping her heel against the wall. "If that's true," she says, "then it feels to me like Giovanni and his team set this up."

"They did?"

"Yes. First they trigger a breach event. They don't know where it will happen, or how, but it takes place and irradiates a witness. Next, Giovanni confirms that the irradiation took place, using his position as Leader to explain why he was out in the woods. After that, all they have to do is keep an eye on where you're going with your friend Cassandra, and they can plot exactly where the next event will occur. That lets them prepare even before the crisis team are mobilised – which in turn means that their mole on the crisis team, Cassandra's aunt, is ready to do whatever it is that Giovanni's people need her to do." Emilia pauses. "She was here today, in fact. I suppose you already know that this was breach."

The silence is very long this time.

"Yeah," says Artemis, in the end. "I … thought it was just a kabutops, but then I saw the video online, and – and that's part of why I had to tell you, because – because it's me, isn't it? Like you said. They're – god, they're using …"

Nadia has to leave Emilia's shoulder for a nearby table: the anger is getting a little too intense for her. Right now, if Giovanni was standing in front of her, Emilia isn't sure she wouldn't just break his nose. This is not right. Fuck the usual channels. Fuck the intricate weaponry of bureaucracy. Some people, says her younger not-Emilia self, just need to get punched in the face.

"I'm sorry, Artemis," she says. "I really am. But we're going to fix this, all right? I promise you, it's going to end. If we stop Giovanni triggering more events, all this goes away."

A little choked noise. A sniff.

"Yeah," says Artemis. "Yeah, okay, I … okay."

"Are you going to be all right?"

"Yes. Yeah, I'm fine, I … Cass is here. I'll be fine."

"Good. I'll visit the Centre tomorrow morning and lose Fuji's address."

"Okay. Okay. We'll, uh, we'll be there."

"Good." Emilia stops to listen for a moment. Artemis seems to be breathing normally now. "All right," she says. "If that's everything, then I'll let you go. I think we both have preparations to make."

"Right. Okay. I'll – I'll see you."

"Bye, Artemis. Good luck."

Emilia stays in position for a moment after the call is over, phone still at her ear. Then, quite suddenly, she lowers it and moves away from the wall in one sharp movement.

She really needs a drink. One would be fine, except that for her one drink comes in a great many instalments, and that's a road she's walked to the end before and knows leads nowhere good.

Instead, she sets her jaw and holds out her hand for Nadia.

"Come on," she says, voice taut with suppressed fury. "Time to go."

* * *

Emilia is as good as her word. The next morning, while Artemis and Cass hang around in the little waiting area of the lobby, flicking through phones and the magazines on the table, she comes in and has a brief discussion with the receptionist. This done, she turns around and leaves again, without ever apparently noticing them sitting there in the corner – and, more importantly, leaving a scrap of paper floating to the floor in her wake.

Artemis retrieves it and looks at the closing doors.

"Excuse me," she says, aware that the receptionist is watching. "I think you dropped …"

Outside, Emilia is already halfway down the road. Artemis steps out of view for a moment, tucks the paper into her sleeve, and then goes back inside. She and Cass wait around for a few minutes longer, and then Artemis sighs and puts her phone away.

"Okay, we've wasted enough time," she says. "Guess we should get going."

The two of them shoulder their backpacks, pick up their pokémon and go. If the receptionist notices anything, he doesn't mention it.

"So what's it say?" asks Cass, once they're out in the street.

"42 Chesswood Road," reads Artemis. "Lavender, Venderfell Riding, 44-Q6-21."

"Well, looks like we got ourselves a destination," says Cass. "I guess we go find that boat, then."

Last night, after Artemis had calmed down a little, they looked up the fastest ways to get to Lavender. The commercial ferry to Vermilion is a given, and after that they can speed up a little, taking trains to get them the rest of the way within the day. Neither of them suggested hiking. Somehow, without it ever actually being said, both understand that as of today, their trainer journeys are on hiatus. Artemis worries about this, about the way her one year of freedom is steadily being eaten into by more sinister concerns, but she is too much aware that something more is at stake to voice her concerns.

It does sting. She can't deny it. Artemis has given up a lot of things because of the concerns of others: she likes history and art, but studies sciences; she is a daughter, but plays the son. Her trainer journey is the one thing she refused to give up, no matter what her parents thought of it, and now she's going to shelve that too, because once again there's something more important to think about than what would make her happy.

At least this time it's her own decision. She wants to speak to Fuji as much as anyone else. Or no, actually she's terrified of speaking to Fuji and opening a window onto the horror of ten years ago, so it would be more accurate to say she _needs_ to do it, to get to the bottom of all the lies and misdirection. Emilia can stop Giovanni. She promised. And to stop him, she needs information, and Artemis can get it for her.

She thinks about this as they make their way through town to the docks on the north coast, to a soundtrack of Cass' endless conversation.

"… which reminds me, buster, you and me need to work on mirror move some more," she's telling Ringo, while he busies himself shaking his kabuto around and watching its legs wiggle. "I'm pretty sure you've nearly got it down now."

Artemis isn't sure how she keeps it up, but she's grateful for it. Cass' chattering is like an anchor, something defiantly real and solid in the middle of all the strange fever-dream events of the past few weeks, and listening to it Artemis finds herself drifting back from the brink of dissociation.

"I guess there'll be time on the boat," she says. "It's two nights to Vermilion."

"Yeah, I know." Cass shakes her head. "I kinda wish we'd found out about all this when we were somewhere other than the most isolated town in Kanto. Now we just gotta _wait_. Y'know?"

"Yeah," says Artemis. "I know."

At the ferry terminal, Artemis gets tickets while Cass calls her aunt. They have both agreed that they can't let Giovanni's people know that Cass is no longer on their side, although they don't quite see eye to eye on what they should do about it. Cass floated the idea of feeding them false information about their movements; Artemis thought that this would only reveal that Cass has switched sides, as soon as the next breach event turns out not to be in the place where she supposedly is. Besides, whether they're bad people or not, they _are_ the ones most qualified to deal with breach events, and if one takes place then she'd prefer it if the experts came to contain it. In the end, Cass decided just to keep reporting for now, and see if the situation changes.

This matters. It's evidence that she means what she says about taking Artemis' side, and even though Artemis wanted to believe her before, it helps to have something she can point to as proof. It's not much – she _is_ still reporting, after all; who knows what her motivations are – but it's something, and somethings are what she needs right now, as she wades through the messy swamps of possibility.

The Vermilion-bound ferry is much bigger than the one on the Pallet route: it has space for three decks of cars, and pedestrian passengers like Cass and Artemis have to sit around in the big lounge at the bow while people drive on and park. It's not an unpleasant wait. The lounge is spacious and fitted out with not just comfortable chairs but a fully stocked bar, and its front wall is composed of huge sheets of glass that give an incredible view of the jewel-green ocean beyond. Artemis finds this perspective on the sea more comfortable than the one you get from the deck. Since she's inside, that yawning emptiness seems less apparent.

She sits there and plays with Brauron – there is a game she likes where Artemis raises her hands above each other in turn so that she can climb upwards infinitely, and sure her claws scratch up Artemis' palms but a happy Brauron is so cute that it's always worth it – and in fact is so engrossed that she almost doesn't notice when the ferry actually starts moving. It's a good, relaxing few minutes, and then she hears someone sitting a few seats away by the next table asking their friend if they heard about the creepy possessed skeletons and the glow fades.

Breach again. Artemis' fault, of course. Her curse, and she brought it here to Cinnabar. After she saw the video on the _Cataphract_ website – same journalist who wrote the story about Cinnabar House; he seems to be good at exposing League secrets – she went back to the news and checked over and over for anyone hurt or wounded. Fortunately, the cars that got destroyed were parked and empty, and the skeletons moved slowly enough that everybody in their path had time to get away. They weren't vicious. Not like the gyarados, if that really was breach.

It's a small comfort – Artemis is still responsible for all that property damage; she looked at that aerodactyl and made it come to life – but it _is_ comfort. With breach, she'll take what she can get.

* * *

Emilia flips through the morning's news with interest. According to the digest of front pages on the _Saffron Times_ website, pretty much everyone has led with the reanimated fossil story, with the exception of _The Daily Meteor_ and _The Flag_ , one of which has gone with the news that Sabrina Whitmarsh has filed for divorce and the other of which is all about a model that Emilia has never heard of. All seem to be keeping to the official explanation so far, even _The Cataphract_ , which Emilia goes through with particular care. It isn't just that it's usually her main opponent in the chess game of information control; it's also that it's her preferred news vehicle. Suspicion of authority is always a good thing, no matter how hard it makes her job, and Emilia likes journalism that doesn't buy the League's stories.

But not even Mark Trelawney has figured out breach yet, and so even _The Cataphract_ can't do anything other than aggressively question how a ghost that strong was able to slip past the League and get into town. Which is fine; the League has its competency questioned every day and nothing ever really comes of it: everyone knows really that the Indigo League is one of the better ones. They manage to get Johtonians and Kantans to work together, after all, and if you can do that then you're a damn sight more capable than any other branch of government in either nation. Compare that with, say, the Unova League and their handling of the Team Plasma situation, and there really isn't anything to complain about.

With the news firmly under control, it's time for Emilia to leave, and she heads up to the Gym with Nadia to see if someone will fly her back so she can avoid the time and nausea of the ferry. En route, she stops at the Pokémon Centre to lose Fuji's address, and has to try not to smile at Artemis and Cass attempting to be inconspicuous in the corner. It's actually kind of cute how inept they are at this, although it seems uncharitable to think it.

The walk up to the Gym is nice at this time of day, before the heat really builds up; Emilia has lived in Kanto since she was three, when her parents moved out from Rome to follow the boom during the Clairmont government, and she's used to the searing summers – but it feels to her that recently they have been getting even hotter, and she finds herself less able to bear the midday sun than in her youth. It's either age or global warming. Emilia isn't sure which one would be less depressing.

Still, early in the day as it is, the sun is pleasant rather than scorching, and she enjoys her walk up through the olive groves and the lichen-covered boulders. At one point she comes around the corner and sees a royal pidgeot perched on a high rock, trailing a limp beedrill from its beak. Emilia is taken aback at the size of it, so close and so vividly coloured; the pidgeot looks fearlessly back at her and coos so deeply it is almost a growl before kicking away from the rock and soaring up and away around the volcano's flank, trailing its crest like a rainbow comet.

 _BIG!_ says Nadia, uncharacteristically emotional, and Emilia has to agree. It's easy to forget that all those pidgey you see pecking around in city streets have the potential to become something as huge and powerful as this. Or almost, anyway. Royal pidgey are a little bigger than the usual kind, if she remembers right.

Up at the Gym, everything is strangely quiet. Training sessions and challenges have been suspended for the day, and many of the staff aren't even in; after a brief chat with the receptionist, however, she learns that Blaine has in fact been expecting her, and while he is currently at the police station to discuss anti-ghost measures that could be put into place, he has left word for someone to fly her back to Saffron.

"He actually said if you didn't come I should email you," the receptionist explains. "Something about not inflicting the ferry on you?"

Emilia smiles. She'd forgotten that Blaine was like this. They haven't seen much of each other since the M entity case ten years ago, but they worked together quite a lot then, and Blaine's the kind of guy who greets literally everyone he sees by name. Of course he would remember.

"Tell him from me that he's too good for the League," she says. "I owe him one."

"He said you'd say that, too. Apparently you don't, because he already owes you for Cinnabar House, whatever that means."

Emilia has to laugh. The guy thinks of everything, doesn't he? He could probably do her job better than she can.

"All right," she says. "I know when I'm beaten. Who do I need to speak to about the charizard?"

Ten minutes later, she's in the air and watching the verdant slopes and bright roofs of Cinnabar fading among the glare of sunlight on waves; charizard are never a comfortable ride, flanks burning your thighs while the wind freezes your head, but it definitely beats sailing, and it's much faster, too. The charizard and his partner, Zac, drop her and Nadia off on the landing zone on top of the Saffron Gym after just a few hours, and though Emilia's legs are somewhat jellified and her hair has been blasted into a huge messy cloud, she is very, very glad to be back among the yellow bricks and glittering high-rises without the intervening pain of twenty hours at sea.

"You," she tells Zac, "are a lifesaver. You too, Rico."

The charizard huffs out hot air and lets her pat his snout. His scales are warm with more than just the sunlight.

"You're okay from here?" asks Zac, but of course Emilia is; she's done this many, many times before. She takes a moment to flatten and tie back her hair, then makes her way back down the staircase bolted to the Gym's wall towards the street, and the comforting anonymity of a Saffron crowd.

Her relief at being home doesn't last, of course: now she's here, she can't help but think of Effie, waiting and slowly dying back up in her apartment, and there are other worries now as well, about Artemis' safety and whether or not she's going to be able to keep that promise she made. It should be okay, it really should, but the stakes are high, and even knowing the odds are in her favour, Emilia is hesitant to play with that kind of risk.

And then, on her way back to her apartment, she gets a call from Lorelei, and her thoughts grind to a sudden and uncompromising halt.

"I'm sorry?" she asks. "Did – what was that?"

"I said, we're dropping the investigation," says Lorelei. "Look, Em, internal review didn't find anything. They went to the ROCKETS site and it was completely empty―"

"So they moved to a new location to avoid detection―"

"―and they didn't get anything out of questioning Giovanni," Lorelei continues, ignoring her completely. "There's nothing. We've got minutes from his meetings at the casinos and his movements are completely accounted for―"

"So he fabricated―"

"― _and_ he pointed out to us that your witness who apparently found him scanning her is recovering from a major psychotic episode, with a history of hallucination and delusive thinking," says Lorelei firmly. "Look, Emilia, I―"

"She's what?"

Emilia is, for once, completely staggered. She stops dead in the middle of the street, so abruptly that someone almost walks into her and yells at her to be careful. It hadn't even occurred to her to doubt Artemis' testimony. Okay, she clearly had anxiety and probably depression too, but – hallucination? Delusions? It just doesn't seem to fit. She seemed like … well, not crazy.

Probably Emilia shouldn't be judging her like that.

"How – how does he even know that?" she asks, dragging her mind back to the phone call. "I – why would he have access to that information unless he was trying to discredit―?"

"Emilia. Em. Listen to me for a moment, would you?" A pause. Emilia shuts up, trying to get her thoughts together before her mouth betrays her again. "Thanks. He knew because we consulted him about the Pewter incident. He _did_ run ROCKETS when it was active, after all. He saw the case files, and apparently he did some research of his own."

"But she – Lorelei, I spoke to her, and I―"

"Emilia, she's _psychotic_ ," snaps Lorelei. "And I can't _believe_ you got me to open an investigation on the word of one crazy kid―"

"Lorelei, that is not appropriate," says Emilia coldly, and Lorelei falters, sighs.

"All right," she says. "You're right, I'm sorry. But this investigation is over, Emilia. ROCKETS is finished. Giovanni isn't triggering breach events. That email you found was exactly what it looked like."

"But I found out who the person who sent it was," says Emilia desperately. "Her name's Abigail Grahame, from the crisis team – she had her niece join up with Artemis to spy on her and report breach events to―"

"And who told you that?" asks Lorelei, and Emilia falls silent. Even as she said it, she could hear how much it sounded like paranoia. "God, Emilia, I – look. I don't know what this is, I don't …" She trails off. She sounds tired and confused. Probably it never occurred to her that Emilia might be fallible – that her mentor of all people might get something so spectacularly wrong. Emilia doesn't need Nadia to tell what's going on in her head. "When was the last time you had a holiday?" Lorelei asks her. "Six years ago?"

"What?" Something cold grabs Emilia's heart and squeezes. She is not often afraid, but this? This frightens her, enough to make Nadia restless and uneasy on her shoulder. "Lorelei, what are you …?"

"Look, it's not even legal, working like you do," says Lorelei. "I swear you have fifty-hour weeks and I'm sure you do more even after you get home." She sighs. "Emilia, just take a break, all right? Just for a while. I – I think you need some time off."

"I can't believe you're even saying this," says Emilia. "Lorelei, I'm _fine_. It's Giovanni who―"

"Listen to yourself! Emilia, I don't want to suspend you but I will if I have to. Take some time. A proper break, a couple of months. Full pay, of course. You need to rest. What you're doing isn't healthy."

Emilia doesn't know what to say. Lorelei is right, it isn't healthy; Emilia has known for a long time that all she really did when she gave up drinking was swap one addiction for another. But it's not the point. She made a promise. And there's so much else at stake, too. So many potential lives to be lost.

"Is this what Giovanni told you to say?" she asks, and Lorelei sighs again.

"Jesus Christ, Emilia, I―"

"Well, did he?"

"He happens to be right!" retorts Lorelei, finally snapping. "Emilia, this is not up for discussion. I'm having your account locked. Don't try to log in, don't try to use your card. If you're not going to be reasonable, I'll just have to suspend you."

"You _what?_ "

"You heard me. I'm not having this discussion with you, Emilia. I'll call you later, when you've calmed down."

"Are you actually going to hang up on―?"

Beep.

Emilia stares at her phone. Around her, the city noises rush in to fill the silence.

"Well, fuck you too, then," she says, her old rough south Celadon accent smashing straight through her bourgeois lawyer voice, and stomps off in the direction of home.


	14. 0E: Old Wounds

**0E: OLD WOUNDS**

Some time later, as Emilia is walking into her apartment building, Nadia pokes tentatively at her mind.

 _?_ , she asks.

"Maybe not right now," Emilia replies.

 _YES_ , says Nadia diffidently, and falls silent. Emilia can sense her eagerness to be off her shoulder and out of range of her emotions. She can't blame her, honestly – natu are not good with human feelings – but some small vicious part of her does anyway.

She can tell that Nadia senses this, too. There's not a lot she can do about that.

As soon as they're inside, Nadia flutters quietly away towards the kitchen, looking for her seed mix, and Emilia leaves her to it, going straight for Effie instead. She is where she left her, fruit just as bloated and as ugly, and when she sees her Emilia's anger fades, just like that. The reckless, furious energy drains out of her, and she drops her bag and half-falls next to it, to reach out and hold Effie in her hands.

It's too much. Effie, and breach, and now this. She could fight the tears, if she really wanted; she could straighten up and smooth her hair and find something better to do. But to hell with it. She is tired of control, tired of kindness and smiles and competence, and even if there's nothing left of her beneath the mask she just can't keep it up any more, not today.

So. Tears, and swearing, and the ugliness of emotion. It's fine. This kind of thing is like a steam valve; it has to happen eventually or else you explode, and Emilia has been putting it off for a long, long time. She lets it happen, and then when it's passed she kisses Effie (no risk now; no pollen left to poison her) and stands up and wipes her eyes.

"Okay," she says. She can't seem to find her usual voice. This one is hoarser and less approachable, from a time before she made herself mimic the other, wealthier students on her law conversion course. "Okay, well, it doesn't change anything. I have to fix this, League or not." She checks her phone: three in the afternoon, give or take. "Lunch first," she commands herself. "Get changed. Then … then you _can't_ search for Abigail Grahame, because your account's locked. So … uh." She thinks for a moment, then sighs. "Lunch first," she repeats, and goes into the kitchen.

Nadia is there, pecking at the bowl of feed that lives permanently on the kitchen counter for her to snack on, carefully removing all the sunflower seeds to be saved until last. She looks up sharply when Emilia enters, obvious unease rippling through her mind in a way that leaves Emilia feeling guilty.

"I don't know how much of that you understood," she says, searching in the cupboard for bread. "I've been suspended, Nadia. Which I suppose means _we've_ been suspended, since Lorelei didn't ask me to return you."

 _I STAY_ , announces Nadia, and despite it all Emilia smiles.

"Yes," she says. "Yes, you do."

At this point, even if she quit the League entirely, they probably wouldn't ask for Nadia back. Not only is she too attuned to Emilia to work with anyone else, but after all this time she's as much her partner as Effie ever was, and the taboo about separating human and pokémon partners would apply. Nadia isn't like a regular animal; with the uncomfortable exception of the Fuji Labs' copyrighted clones (and that is something the League is getting close to being able to overturn), pokémon cannot legally be owned, in Kanto at least. Technically she is an employee of the Indigo League, not its property, and if she decided one day that she'd had enough there would be nothing anyone could do to stop her leaving.

Emilia makes herself a sandwich and sits down at the table to eat with her, concentrating on not thinking ahead, on keeping herself in this moment and not mired in whatever difficulties are coming next. It's not easy. There's the suspension, of course, and really that hurts, especially coming from Lorelei; Emilia truly did think that she trusted her more than that. Perhaps she did, before Emilia confronted her about ROCKETS. And then there's Giovanni, which is just infuriating. She can picture him now, sitting across from the internal review team in the Viridian Gym conference room, all smiles and innocence. Oh, but I think I see where this misunderstanding has come from, he says. Unfortunately, I suspect your informant has failed to vet their source. You see, Miss Apanchomene is …

That stings too, really, although she has no right to take it badly. Artemis was perfectly within her rights not to volunteer personal information about her mental health to some suspicious League woman, and Emilia knows this, she really does; it's just that if she _had_ told her, then maybe Emilia would have taken the last few days differently and maybe she wouldn't be sitting here right now, eating sandwiches while Giovanni carries on summoning eldritch abominations.

She is not, it has to be said, doing a particularly good job of keeping herself in the moment.

Emilia sighs.

"How's the birdseed?" she asks.

 _SEEDS_ , replies Nadia, and levitates one to show her.

"Okay," says Emilia. "Good. I guess. Yeah, good."

She finishes eating, puts the plate in the almost-empty dishwasher and goes to shower and change; she's been in these clothes since she flew out to Cinnabar. Habit almost sees her put on a different suit, but she forces herself to stop and go to the other side of her wardrobe instead, where dresses she bought because they were pretty and never wore because they were not professional languish in obscurity. Some are even dusty, she notices. Actually _dusty_. Come on, Emilia. You call yourself organised.

She sighs again, and slowly puts herself back together. When she's done, the Emilia in the mirror looks strange to her, in her unfamiliar summer dress and braided belt. Tired, but maybe younger. Definitely less … less something.

"You look nice," she tells her reflection, or perhaps her reflection tells her, and then Emilia throws up her hands and goes back outside, unable to deal with the weirdness. Nadia gives her one of those looks, and Emilia sighs yet again, shakes her head. "Don't even say anything," she warns her. "I know already."

 _COLOURS_ , says Nadia, tilting her head dramatically to one side like an owl. Emilia is reminded of the way that she stares at the TV, entranced by the light.

"Colourful, yeah," she says. "I know, it's strange."

 _SUNFLOWER EMILIA_ , replies Nadia, hopping closer.

Emilia stares, touched. Sunflower seeds are her favourite; just as what she hates is _furret_ , so what she likes is _sunflower_.

"Yeah?" she asks. It's ridiculous, but she almost feels like she might cry again.

Nadia broadcasts confirmation. Emilia smiles a wobbly kind of smile.

All right, she thinks. Maybe she can work with this after all.

* * *

It's not so bad, this boat thing. There's the waiting, of course; that hangs over their heads, ominous and heavy. But the boat ride itself is actually pretty good. Both Artemis and Cass have training to do, and unlike the ferry from Pallet, this ship is big enough to support it.

After lunch – they somehow manage to spend the rest of the morning doing nothing in the lounge, trying to stay connected to the crappy ship wifi for more than five minutes at a time – they go out on deck to see if there's space to run through some moves. There are a lot of people sitting out here, taking advantage of the sun, but there are also a couple of kid trainers drilling their ivysaur and butterfree in a complex dance of whipping vines and fluttering wings.

"Aw," says Cass, pointing. "Rosewing! Those are so pretty."

Artemis has to agree. The butterfree's delicate wings are a beautiful mix of pinks and reds, swirling around vivid eyespots.

"What's your favourite kind of butterfree?" asks Cass, as they make their way down the deck, giving the sparring pokémon a wide berth.

Artemis has never thought about this. She doesn't have a ready answer, and leaves Cass hanging far too long.

"Uh …"

"It's okay if you don't have one," says Cass, reddening a little at her obvious embarrassment. "Mine's eclipse."

"Mm," says Artemis, mentally kicking herself for not just picking one and going with it. "Yeah, they're nice, I guess."

Past the kids and their pokémon, there's a stretch of empty deck that they feel should be all right, as long as they're careful with moves like ember. Brauron slithers down from Artemis' neck, Ringo takes up a position opposite her, and they get to work.

It goes well enough. Some Googling has identified Brauron's weird blue-fire move as dragon rage, and Artemis works on bringing it properly into her repertoire, trying to gauge whether the eerie flame draws on her poison stockpile or whether she can use it freely. It seems to drain her energy fast, and she has to keep still when using it so the force doesn't knock her off her feet, but her mouth is still wet with venom at the end of it. Artemis doesn't push her too hard; it's still not been that long since her Gym battle, and she has no desire to tire her out before she's got her full strength back.

Ringo, for his part, still hasn't quite got mirror move, which is understandable; it's a complicated one, especially for a pokémon that doesn't usually have to deal with moves any more complex than peck and fury attack. He does finally nail pursuit, blurring forward to strike in a dark flash when Artemis has Brauron turn her back to him, and both Cass and Artemis have to admit that he seems to be hitting harder than usual.

"Maybe he's getting ready to evolve?" suggests Artemis, as he knocks Brauron back a step. "Spearow grow fast, right?"

"Maybe," agrees Cass. "That'd be cool, although if you do that, Ringo, you don't get to ride on my shoulder any more. I love you, but I love having both my arms still attached more."

He squawks and flutters back, not quite dodging a swipe from Brauron that knocks him off balance and has him flapping wildly to recover.

"She's getting tough too, huh," says Cass. "Do salandit evolve fast? I mean, you're really good so she'll probably evolve sooner rather than later, but like, what's normal?"

Artemis shrugs, as if she hasn't looked all this up already and does not know that salandit typically reach maturity in two to three years, where spearow take one.

"Couple years in the wild," she says. "I think. So maybe we'll manage it before I run out of time, maybe not."

"Before you what?"

Artemis blinks. She's told Cass so much recently that she'd forgotten that she hasn't actually told her everything.

"I only have a year," she explains. "I have a place at university. It was … kinda the only way my parents would let me go."

She waits for the response. Cass could say _but you know they can't stop you_ , could point out that Artemis is an adult and can make her own decisions; she could say that trainer journeys are enshrined in Kantan law and culture, and it is illegal to coerce people into giving them up. She could say all these things and Artemis would not be able to explain herself, not in the face of all those words.

Cass does not say it. She sighs, and runs the fingers of one hand through her hair.

"Yeah?" she asks.

"Yeah," says Artemis. "I … we don't …" She forces herself to stop and breathe. "If they knew about me, they'd …"

The silence is as heavy as the waves or the sunlight. Cass sighs again.

"I'm sorry," she says. "Parents can be shitty."

So she knows. God. Maybe Artemis can trust her and maybe she can't, but she knows.

"I just needed to leave," says Artemis, feeling tears pricking at her eyes. Cass nods.

"I know," she says. "So did I." Brauron and Ringo are silent and still, watching their partners carefully. They sense something is up, although they don't know what. "I … have to admit, I spent the last few weeks before I left town at a friend's house," she continues, not quite looking at her. "While I was waiting for the League paperwork to go through. So yeah. I get it. The parts of it I can get, anyway. And, uh … I don't really know what I'm doing after this."

"Yeah?" asks Artemis.

"Yeah," says Cass. "I'm trying not to think about it."

A short pause. The chatter of the other passengers rises around them.

"I don't know either," says Artemis. "I really don't want to go."

"To uni?"

"Yeah. I mean, I want to get away from home, I want to not fight about – about things with my parents, but I … they chose the course. Like they choose everything."

It's the first time she's ever said it. Artemis is shocked to hear the words coming out of their mouth, how clear and bitter they are. Like a mouthful of broken glass.

"Right," says Cass. "It's like that, huh."

"Yeah," says Artemis. "It is."

Something scratches Artemis' ankle, and she looks down to see Brauron by her foot, looking up at her with wide eyes. She smiles and bends to pick her up.

"I'm okay, kiddo," she says, rubbing a knuckle gently against her head. "I have you, don't I?"

Brauron hisses and clings tightly to Artemis' chest, claws snagging the fabric of her top.

"Yeah," says Artemis. "That's right."

Ringo flutters up to Cass' shoulder. She strokes him absently, without taking her eyes off Artemis.

"Tell you what," she says. "Since even our pokémon have decided that we're done training, how about we take a break? It's _hot_ out here, and I'm pretty sure that if I keep looking at the light reflecting off the deck I'm gonna go blind."

Artemis has to laugh, a little bit at least. Cass is nice: that's what it is, when you get down to it. She's very nice, and that's probably why she betrayed Artemis, because if she knows what it's like to have bad parents then she must have leaped at the chance to please her aunt, to earn someone's respect, without even thinking about the consequences; and it's why she confessed to what she did; and it's why she's doing this now. She's nice. Artemis isn't sure if she can see past what she did, but she _is_ nice.

"Okay," she says. "Let's go in."

* * *

The cabins on the ferry sleep four, with two stacked bunks against each wall. Artemis and Cass have to share theirs with a young couple in their early twenties, with whom they exchange strained pleasantries and who stare at Artemis without apparently realising that she can see them doing it. She's reminded of that school trip four years ago, sleeping badly in a room full of strangers, and wishes there was room to let Brauron out of her ball so she could feel her comforting warmth.

But there isn't, and anyway Artemis is still afraid to have Brauron near her while she sleeps in case she somehow manages to crush her with her clumsy bulk, so she just closes her eyes and tries to ignore the eyes weighing on her like pieces of lead. She has a dream in which ghost people crowd around her, or maybe she wakes up and hallucinates them, either one, and gets up early, eager to fit her face back together and get out of the cabin before anyone else.

It's six am. The ship is quiet and cool and feels all but uninhabited, as if Artemis is alone on a ghost ship, sailing over forgotten seas far away from Kanto and its dangerously cracked reality. She steals out onto the deck, into grey light filtering through bruise-coloured clouds, and watches the waves moving like great dark slabs of muscle beneath her.

"Another storm," she says to Brauron, or rather she whispers it, because the early morning calm hangs around her too softly to break with raised voices. "That's gonna be fun, out here."

It's soon for another one. Each of Kanto's summers has been stormier than the last, in recent years. Probably global warming. Artemis tries not to think about it too much because her powerlessness scares her, but she read somewhere that many climatologists agree that Vermilion and Pallet will be underwater with Miami and Alexandria by the end of century, even in the best-case scenario.

Artemis pulls back from the railing, unable to bear the water any more. It's probably time to go inside, anyway. If the sky is any indication, today is not going to be a good day for being out on the deck.

The storm breaks around noon, after a morning during which everybody hangs around uneasily inside, peering out at the windows in search of rain. As soon as the boat starts rocking, Ringo and Brauron both clamour to be let back in their balls, and frankly Artemis can't blame them; a summer storm out on the ocean is, as it turns out, really kind of unpleasant. The ship heaves, bucking and swaying beneath her like a drunk horse, and with the furniture sliding around dangerously in the lounge everyone returns to their cabins, to sit on their bunks and try to make conversation through the thickening nausea and the deafening pounding of the rain on the deck. Artemis and the young couple take turns throwing up in the little bathroom; Cass, for some reason, is entirely immune, and sits there looking increasingly apologetic as everyone around her gets increasingly miserable.

"I'm sorry," she keeps saying. "Like I have no idea why I'm not barfing too."

"'S fine," mumbles Artemis, voice lost in the boom of thunder. "Wouldn't actually wish this on you."

Eventually, after ninety per cent of everything anyone has eaten so far on this trip has left its consumers' stomachs, the storm begins to slacken, and the waves to shrink. Artemis has thrown up far too much, and has banged her head from the swaying about sixteen times, and at least once the lumps of silicone she wears against her chest have jumped mortifyingly free beneath her dress and exposed their fakeness, but she is at least still alive.

"Ugh," she grunts, lying on her back, eyes closed. "Why do we even have boats. _Why_. Who even sets sail when _this_ is what's out there."

"I guess we're probably just not used to it," says Cass unhelpfully. "Like all the crew seemed fine."

"Okay, but I'm not the crew and _I'm_ not fine."

"That's … fair, I guess? I dunno."

It's late by the time people begin to venture out of their cabins, and prematurely dark with rainclouds; when they do, Artemis sees the same look of faint surprise on everyone's face at the fact that the ship seems to be absolutely fine, aside from a few chairs falling over. She's surprised herself. It _felt_ like half the boat should have been destroyed. But no, apparently the ships that regularly sail in weather like this are in fact built to withstand it fairly handily. Honestly, she feels like she should have seen that one coming.

The rain comes down all night, cracking against the windows like whips, but the wind and the thunder have gone and the water, though a little choppy, is nowhere near as rough as it was previously. Artemis and Cass eat bar food, stretch their pokémon's legs after their hours in their balls, and go to bed early, exhausted.

This, fortunately, is the last night on the water, and Artemis looks forward to being free of her unwanted roommates. Morning arrives, grey and drizzly and suffused with post-storm calm, and a couple of hours later Vermilion finally becomes visible through the rain, a dull smear on the horizon. It is by all accounts not an unattractive city, but even as they come into port it's hard to see much of it; the rain blurs out distant buildings and turns the nearer ones grey and unappealing. At any rate, they don't stay long. As soon as they get off the boat, Artemis and Cass take the bus down anonymous rain-slicked streets to the train station, and get on the 3.19 to Lavender.

It feels wrong. Artemis wonders if it's just her who senses it, but Cass is uncharacteristically quiet too, and she has the feeling that this has something to do with it. This isn't what either of them left home for. They came out here to walk and train and okay, maybe they would have ended up camped out in a thunderstorm and had their tents collapse under the rain but that's fine, that's something that happens to everyone at least once on their trainer journey. This, taking the train, not stopping in Vermilion – this feels off, somehow. Like they've slipped halfway back into real life. Not so far back as to have ended up back home, but far enough to have left the trainer magic behind.

Maybe it's just the rain, making her glum and mawkish. Artemis puts in her earphones for the first time since meeting Cass, and stares out of the window at the drizzle turning the Vermilion suburbs into impressionist watercolours, letting the music fill her head in place of thoughts.

Just a detour, after all. There's no need to worry.

* * *

Emilia's good mood isn't lasting. It's not that anything bad has happened, it's that nothing has happened at all, and it's starting to unnerve her. For the past few hours, she has been sitting in her apartment, occasionally reaching automatically for her phone before remembering her account has been locked and she can't get to her emails, and trying to figure out what she is supposed to be doing.

Morally, ethically, the answer is pretty clear: she should be trying to take down Giovanni. But actually _practically_ , in terms of things she's capable of doing now, with the resources to hand – that's a harder one. She could call people, but what's she going to say? There's no point gathering information now. Nobody's going to listen to her, not after that last call with Lorelei.

And it's that, more than anything, that really throws her. Nobody's going to listen to her. Emilia's life is the gathering and curation of information with the aim of presenting it to people who will make things happen as a result. With the exception of breaking into Giovanni's office the other week, every part of her investigation so far has relied on her connections. Now – well, now if Emilia calls people they'll have to choose between her and Lorelei. And when one option is a legal counsel who's just been suspended and the other is one of the most important women in Kanto, it's not a very difficult decision to make.

Emilia has for decades now maintained that there's always a solution, if you're creative enough and expend enough resources. Now she doesn't have any resources to expend, and she knows all too well that those without resources find that creativity has its limits.

She sits there, aching for something to do (and, in counterpoint, something to drink). She tries to catch up on missed TV, but she can't concentrate; Giovanni and Artemis seem to hover on either side of her, pecking at her like biting flies and pulling her mind back to the responsibilities she cannot now fulfil.

In the end, she gives up and sits with Effie instead, staring at her in what she is vaguely aware is probably an unhealthy kind of way. Outside her window, the sky dims and the apartment building across the street lights up; at her side, her phone stays dark and silent. Sometime in the evening it goes off and she seizes it immediately, but it's Lorelei, and she finds she cannot bring herself to answer. She puts it down and listens as it rings and rings and at last goes to voicemail.

This is childish, she knows. But for once – and worryingly, for someone like her – she can't seem to find it in her to care.

Nadia suggests, at one point, that she might like to eat something. Emilia does not respond. She presses her forehead gently against Effie and closes her eyes, resolutely silent.

For some reason, she finds herself thinking about Sam again, about that day eight years ago when she went home to visit her parents and did not live to come back again. Or no, not for _some reason;_ Emilia knows exactly why. That was the last time, after all. After Sam, Emilia stopped seeing her other friends; if any more are dead, she doesn't know about it, and that's how she prefers it. So the last person close to her who died was Sam. The last person before Effie.

Emilia was not invited to the funeral. Sam's family did not know her, as they did not know most of her Saffron friends. She always kept her family out of her personal life like that. Some lingering resentment. Emilia knew all that, but still, it hurt. She and Sam were best friends, had been since law school. They'd never really thought about what would happen if one of them died, but if they had, each would have wanted to give the other the send-off she deserved.

And then: lightning, a closed-casket funeral, a church service that Sam would have hated if she'd been alive to suffer through it. Emilia heard about it all secondhand, from a friend who did go, and that weekend (she refused to take time off work, refused even to show that she felt anything) she went out to Cerulean to find her grave for herself. Effie came too, she remembers. She was excited on the train because Emilia had told her they were going to see Sam, and then when they got there …

Emilia cannot bear to complete the memory. Even the beginning of it feels like a scar on something vital deep inside her.

She turns the thought over, and comes to a decision. It's time. And sure, it isn't going to fix anything; Giovanni is still triggering breach events and Artemis is still in trouble. But all that can wait for a day, right? It's not like Emilia has any immediate solutions, anyway. And she definitely isn't coming up with any just sitting around here, feeling guilty.

"Nadia," says Emilia, without moving. "Nadia, find the train timetable website, please. I need to visit an old friend."

* * *

The next day, the storm clouds are gathering overhead. Emilia puts on another dress she hasn't worn in years – still fits, she notes, so at least the exercise regime is doing its job – and heads out with a pre-emptive raincoat draped over one arm, ready for the downpour when it comes. On her way to the station, it occurs to her that Artemis is probably on the ferry now, and the thought is so nasty that she physically winces. She feels seasick even _thinking_ about being caught on a storm out on the water.

It is one of very few thoughts that make it through the weird haze of low-level despair that seems to hang around her mind like the black clouds above. She takes a measure of comfort from this, although not a particularly generous one.

The train journey is fast and uninteresting; the maglev trains connecting Kanto's major cities travel at blistering speed and don't afford much time for seeing the sights. It's a point of national pride that the trains are ten times as fast as in Johto, although Johtonians claim that their slower public transport creates a much better environment for pondering ideas. Old debates. Kanto and Johto have a long, rich history of claiming to be better than each other, even now while the Kantan Tiger economy grows and Johto sinks deeper into austerity and recession.

Cerulean, when it arrives, feels cold in a way that cuts straight through the warm, close air of the gathering storm; coming out of the station, Emilia looks up at the blue slate roofs above the chain stores and anonymous housing and is unaccountably depressed. Nadia puts a questioning thought into her head, and she shrugs.

"I don't know," she says. "Sam, I guess."

Nadia broadcasts understanding, and falls silent. She has worked with Emilia for ten years, plus two of training, long enough to have known Sam almost as long as Emilia herself. It's difficult to say what she remembers of Sam – natu memory is complicated by their capacity to see into the past – but she certainly knows what Emilia thinks of her. Maybe even better than Emilia does herself.

It's a long way out to the graveyard. Emilia could take a taxi, but for some reason she doesn't want to, even though the humid pre-storm heat is making her hair frizz out of its usual tight control and her breath come in what feel like sticky lumps of air. She walks through the town centre out towards the east suburbs where Sam's parents live, an unfamiliar lightness in her step from wearing her old sneakers instead of heels, and when the lightning cleaves the sky and the rain begins to fall she just shrugs on her raincoat and keeps on walking, nestling Nadia inside the hood next to her cheek.

Everyone is ready for it: in minutes, the other pedestrians have mostly vanished, and the cars get much less frequent. The rain comes down in drops so bloated and numerous they are almost sheets, hammering the pavement, roaring on Emilia's plastic hood. Around her, the buildings turn soft and blurry beneath veils of falling water, and Nadia shivers in the sudden cool and presses herself against her partner's cheek.

 _BAD SKY_ , she says, which strikes Emilia as a peculiarly lovely way of putting it.

"Yes," she agrees. "It's not great."

The rain falls; Emilia walks. It's pleasant, even as the water splashes against her bare shins and trickles down to wet her feet. She can't remember the last time she was out in a storm and it was anything other than an annoying impediment to whatever she was doing at the time. But now she has no job to do, and she can just … walk. And enjoy the rain as it comes down, the petrichor smell of it rising from the soil around the trees, the dull roar, the heady boom of thunder and white flash of lightning scattered across shop windows.

Well. Not so much the lightning, maybe. That one's still a slightly sore point, especially today. But it's been eight years, and Emilia can appreciate this for what it is: something huge and beautiful and boundlessly aggressive. There is, she reflects, a reason why gods live in the heavens.

Cerulean is not such a big city, compared to Saffron. An hour later, Emilia has begun to squelch slightly, but she's getting close to her destination, moving through row after row of suburban houses. They all look the same, especially with the rain obscuring the personal touches added by each resident; still, she remembers the way even without asking Nadia to play back the memory of her last trip here. Not consciously, perhaps, but her feet make the turns and carry her closer without her having to think about it.

In the distance, dim through the twilight of the storm, she sees the spire of a church, and walks faster. Her path takes her down a tiny little shopping street that serves the local area, convenience store hairdresser phone repair florist, and without thinking Emilia pushes open the door of the last shop and buys a dozen white lilies.

"That's some dedication," says the woman behind the counter. "You came through the storm to get these?"

Emilia smiles without feeling.

"Well, it's been a while," she replies. "I have some making up to do."

The woman smiles back and hands her the lilies, wrapped up in plastic to protect them from the weather.

"Good luck with that, then," she says. "I hope they like them."

Emilia shrugs. She doesn't bother to correct the florist's assumption.

"I guess I'm going to find out."

She pays without even listening to how much she's being charged and leaves again, flowers clasped carefully against her chest.

Down the streets, skirting puddles, getting wetter. Sam's parents live around here somewhere, she knows. She wonders what they would think if she turned up now, eight years later, with the ghost of their dead daughter hanging around her neck.

Probably it's best not to stir things up. With an effort, Emilia shoves the thought from her head and pushes open the gate to the churchyard.

This part she does remember: two-thirds of the way down the path, six headstones to the left. Emilia walks up to the grave and stares. SAMANTHA VILLIERS, 1978-2009. And some biblical quotation underneath that Sam would have laughed at, had she been around to see it.

"Hey," she says. "I know it's been a while." She pauses. The rain tears at the grass, as if trying to grind its way down through the earth and dig all these corpses up again. "Eight years, actually. Probably too long."

No response. Emilia is not expecting one, but she feels its absence anyway.

"Effie's dying," she says. "Sorry. That's a heavy thing to start with, but it's true. She's dying. And – and I've been suspended, because apparently I was wrong about having more allies in the League than Giovanni." Another pause. "He's doing something bad," she adds, by way of explanation. "I'm doing a terrible job of stopping him."

The carved letters stare back at her like accusatory eyes. Emilia tries to hold their gaze, but at times she feels herself slipping.

"I … I'm kind of stuck, Sam," she says. "And I'm beginning to think that maybe I shouldn't have stopped talking to everyone when you … when you left. There's this kid, Artemis, and she …"

No more words. Emilia sighs and shakes her head.

"I guess that doesn't matter so much," she says. "Look, I just needed to clear my head. Get out of Saffron. And I haven't visited much, so I thought I should fix that." Nadia presses up against her cheek, warm and comforting, and Emilia is profoundly grateful. "I just wish I knew what to do," she says. "If I could find real proof, then maybe … but Lorelei's not going to listen to me, not now." She sighs again. "Anyway, I brought flowers. That's what you do, right? For a … for a grave."

Emilia unwraps the lilies and puts them down in front of the gravestone. They last barely a minute before the rain tears them to shreds, but it's the thought that counts. She hopes.

"Sorry," she says. "The weather's not cooperating today. I was hoping for better."

She stands there for a long moment, slowly running through things she could say to try and make this work. None seem up to the task at hand.

"Okay," she says, in the end. "Okay, Sam. I guess that's it." There is one thing she wants to say, but after eight years it feels too ridiculous for her to even consider letting the words leave her mouth. "I'm going to come more often," she promises instead. "I don't know if I'll always have anything to say, but I'll come." She hesitates for a moment, then reaches out and rests her hand atop the gravestone. "See you around, Sam."

It is time. Emilia turns and leaves, feeling – she isn't sure what; some kind of sorrow, sure, but something light and buoyant, too. Like a debt has been discharged. Like a failing connection has been restored. She tells herself that this is silly, that it's been eight years and that that's longer than she and Sam even knew each other; still, the feeling lingers.

Maybe she should have taken time off to grieve after all. But that's in the past now. And all Emilia has to work with is the present, and the future.

 _?_ asks Nadia, as they make their way back through the suburbs towards the city centre.

"Oh, I don't know," replies Emilia. "It just feels different, somehow." She takes a deep breath of cool, rain-scented air. "Let's go home, Nadia," she says. "Let's go home and then let's _fuck_ the furret man."


	15. 0F: The Lines Are Now Open

**0F: THE LINES ARE NOW OPEN**

Lavender is small. Artemis thought Cinnabar was small, but Lavender? Lavender is _small_. She should have expected it, maybe, since the train was an old-fashioned rail one instead of a maglev, but somehow she wasn't quite expecting this. The train station is just a platform and a closed ticket office at the top of a slope on the north edge of town, and from there the town itself is more or less entirely visible at a glance: a few streets clustered in between the hills; the slim bulk of the historic Pokémon Tower; the pale gleam of the Silent Lake to the south.

It feels uncannily like the woods could sweep down the hills and swallow up Lavender entirely if she looks away for too long. But this, Artemis knows, is nonsense, so she does her best not to think it and keeps her eyes on the street ahead of her instead. They drop their bags at the Centre – separate rooms, in this quiet little place, but at least there don't seem to be many other guests and so Artemis will have a chance to use the bathroom without company – and track down Fuji's home using the map on Cass' phone.

"The signal here is terrible," she complains, waving it around. "Sheesh. Like I know we're in the middle of nowhere out here, but come _on_. You'd think _someone_ would build a phone mast or two."

Artemis doesn't contribute much to the conversation; she is far, far too nervous for that. But she listens, and feels a little better for Cass' chattering. Pewter girl that she is, the Lavender quiet strikes her as unnerving, and she's glad to hear it broken.

It is an uneventful trip. Once in the residential area where Fuji lives, they pass almost no one else except a man walking his pinsir, and then (all too soon) they are there, standing outside 42 Chesswood Road.

Artemis looks at it. It seems more or less identical to every other house on the street: small, semi-detached, little patch of garden at the front. Somehow, this doesn't seem right, although she can't put her finger on why. Fuji's retired now, isn't he? And even if he wasn't, it's not like he'd have filled his actual _house_ with whatever weird machines you need for genetic engineering.

She takes a breath.

"Well," she says. "Here we are."

A short pause.

"Yep," says Cass.

A longer pause. Brauron climbs up to Artemis' shoulder and does the thing where she drapes herself around her neck. For once, it isn't too warm to be comforting; the air is still cool and a little drizzly with the remnants of the storm.

"I guess we have to go in," says Artemis, reaching up and running a knuckle along Brauron's flank.

"Yep," says Cass again. "Do you, uh, d'you like want me to …?"

She does. She really, really does. But this is her mess, her irradiated body, her conspiracy, and Artemis knows with the full force of all her unreliable belief that she has to do this herself.

"It's okay," she says, pushing open Fuji's garden gate. "I'll manage."

Down the path. Up to the door. Breathe, Artie – and raise your hand – and …

Knock knock.

For a long moment, there's no response, then Artemis hears the shuffling of slippers on carpet and the door opens. He's nowhere near as young as he was when he sat for that portrait hanging in the lab back on Cinnabar, but it's unmistakeably him: Dr Makoto Fuji. A little more shrunken, a little fatter, but still with the same sharp eyes and pencil moustache.

For a brief moment, he stares, in that particular painful way that people do when Artemis appears in front of them, and then he takes control of himself and smiles instead.

"Hello," he says, with surprising warmth. From what Emilia said, Artemis wasn't expecting him to be so welcoming. "Trainers, eh? Here to adopt? Well, come in, come in. Right this way."

Before either of them can say anything, Fuji turns away and shuffles back inside, motioning for them to follow. Artemis takes a second to swallow the little rush of panic at that stare, then, after exchanging looks with Cass, goes in after him, into a strong smell of dog and the clicking sound of a curious pinsir.

"Excuse the mess," says Fuji cheerily, motioning them into what was once a living-room, and technically still is, although the various pokémon living in it appear to have been doing their best to demolish most of the furniture. A couple of growlithe are napping by the bay window; a one-armed pinsir is gnawing the coffee table with its horns; a tigerstripe electabuzz with vivid orange fur lounges on the sofa, one arm hanging off the edge and idly scratching at the woodwork.

"We have a few others, too," Fuji says, with a sharp look at the electabuzz that makes it pause for all of half a second before starting again. "A few upstairs, some in the garden. Do excuse our surroundings – I never really _meant_ to start this shelter, it just sort of happened in my home. But wait, wait; I haven't even asked your names. My apologies. I'm Mr Fuji." ( _Mr_ , not Dr?) "And you are …?"

"I'm Cass," says Cass brightly. "This birdbrain here is Ringo."

Ringo screams. One of the growlithe wakes up, yapping; the other simply rolls over and farts loudly.

"Shush, you," says Fuji, glancing at them. "And who might you be?"

"Artemis. And this here is Brauron."

"Pleased to meet you," says Fuji, peering at Brauron and getting hissed at. "I'm not sure I've ever seen one of those before."

"She's a salandit," replies Artemis. "From Alola."

"Wonderful." Fuji smiles. Artemis recognises the expression: slightly relieved, slightly manic. Glad that his encounter with her is going okay, that she has turned out to be a normal human being. People sometimes expect something else of her, for some reason. Or no, not for _some_ reason, Artemis knows exactly why, really; still, it happens, and there's nothing to be gained by making a thing of it so instead she just smiles back at him. "Well, then. As you can see, we've got―"

"Actually," says Artemis, and then falters. "Uh … I mean, actually … we're, um, not here about that."

Fuji's smile grows strained and confused.

"I'm sorry? I don't quite follow. What exactly is this all about?"

"It's … we're kind of in trouble." How can she say it? He's so nice, and he runs a pokémon shelter for god's sake, in his own home no less; he left it all behind, all this awful conspiracy bullshit, and now – now Artemis wants to dredge it up again? Throw him right back into the arms of that terrible memory? "It's … I'm sort of irradiated," she says. Not how she meant to say it, but it's what she's come up with. "With, um … well, with breach radiation."

Fuji does not say anything. He seems to have locked up, face frozen halfway through his smile fading. Behind him, the pinsir and the electabuzz look up, suddenly tensing.

"It's Giovanni Dioli," blurts out Artemis, fighting her panic, not managing to subdue it. "He's triggering breach events – and they're following me and – and I found your diary, I'm sorry, in Cinnabar …"

She runs out of words. The silence grows, thick and cloying and so heavy that it feels like Artemis' skull will cave in under the weight of it, and then Fuji sighs and looks away, raising a hand to his brow.

"I see," he says. "I see. I …" He seems to catch himself before he repeats it again, and feels behind him for the arm of the sofa, to ease himself down into his seat. The electabuzz makes room silently, its gaze unwavering, and the pinsir shuffles a little closer to his feet, clicking its mouthparts in concern. "Forgive me," he murmurs, still not looking at anyone. "I … wasn't expecting that."

Another silence. Artemis feels Brauron pressed up against her neck, but cannot seem to bend her head and look.

"I'm sorry," she says. Her voice sounds too loud, booming in her head like a gunshot. "I know it must be – I mean – I'm sorry."

No response. Cass hovers nervously. After a long, long moment, Fuji breathes out.

"I should really be the one apologising," he says. "It seems my legacy isn't played out yet." He swallows. "Excuse me, could you get me a glass of water?"

"I'll go," says Cass quickly. "Just a sec."

The room feels colder without her. Artemis suppresses a shiver and waits for Fuji to speak. When he does so, it is quiet, almost absent, as if he has forgotten her presence.

"I really thought that that was all over," he says. "After that … it's been ten years." He shakes his head. "I thought they would have shut it down."

"They did," says Artemis. He looks up, startled to see her there, and it takes her a moment to recover. "Uh, um, I mean they did shut it down," she stammers. "I – I've been investigating, kind of, and – and Cinnabar House is abandoned and everything. But Giovanni kept doing it anyway?"

She can't quite help adding the inflection, turning it into a question. Fuji keeps staring, unresponsive, and then finally Cass comes back and hands him some water and the spell breaks.

"Thank you," he says, blinking. "Thank you, miss."

He drinks, and sets the glass down. Afterwards, he looks a little better, and the pinsir and electabuzz untense, settling back down around him.

"It's good to hear that they did shut it down at least," he says. "But I should have known Dioli wouldn't give in. He always seemed very … committed. He was a greater good sort of man. I suppose _I_ was, too. But then … well, that was then." He sighs. "Forgive me. I'm rambling."

"It's okay," says Artemis. "I'm sorry to have brought it up. I just … I really need information, and you're the only lead I have."

The ghost of a smile crosses his face.

"And a sorry sort of lead I am, eh?" he remarks. "Ahem. Do sit down. We should – well, I suppose we should talk."

Cass and Artemis take seats on the other sofa, the pinsir scuttling out of the way of their feet. Ringo flares his wings at it, but Cass gives him a look and he settles down soon enough.

"Cinnabar House," says Fuji. "It was a long time ago, you know. Ten years." He hesitates, lips twitching halfway to a word, and then presses on. "If you found my diary, you know what we were doing."

Artemis nods.

"Yeah. You wanted to make a – a breach entity, is that what they're called?"

"More or less." Fuji sighs. "As I understand it, our work was part of an initiative to command breach, ostensibly so we could better protect against it when it occurred. Someone had an idea that if we could somehow infuse a suitably receptive pokémon with breach powers, and subsequently train it, we would be able to counter breach on its own terms."

"That sounds like a terrible idea," says Cass, and Fuji makes a sound that might, under better circumstances, have been a laugh.

"Yes," he agrees. "Yes, it was."

Silence. Brauron crawls around Artemis' neck and back down to her chest; Artemis puts one hand on her back, feels the warmth against the skin of her palm.

"I don't know if you know of a pokémon called mew," says Fuji. "It's a basal pokémon, in a lot of ways. Some have claimed it is the ancestor of all of them, but of course that's nonsense; almost all have developed independently. There are even records of when klink first appeared, just as the Industrial Revolution began in Europe. It's the symbology of the thing, do you see? Mew are not literally ancestral, but they are _representatively_ ancestral."

Cass is nodding, and a second or two later Artemis sees it too, feeling vaguely embarrassed to have got it after her. She shouldn't – Cass got the scholarship, remember? She's smart – but she feels it anyway.

"Uh huh," Cass says. "Allegorical biology, right?"

Fuji raises his eyebrows. He seems more comfortable now, delivering his little science lesson, and for a brief dizzying moment Artemis can see his younger self overlaid on top of him, discussing some problem with a colleague, scribbling in his journal.

"Quite so," he says. "Remarkable. They didn't teach that in schools back in my day."

Cass shrugs, much to Ringo's disgust.

"I went to a good school," she says neutrally. "So was the mew like your test subject or something?"

Fuji winces.

"Yes," he says. "After a fashion. We obtained a specimen and its DNA was … remarkable. So plastic. Unformed, almost; a nudge here and there and it could have developed into any number of other pokémon. It actually did transform itself on several occasions – not illusions, mind you, physical transformation. Just like a ditto. And we … well, we bred it, via IVF, and made our adjustments to the embryo pre-implantation."

He breaks off and takes a drink of his water. It doesn't quite hide his distress, and Artemis has to fight to squash that sickening tide of guilt rising within her, at forcing an old man to plumb the darkest depths of his sordid past.

"The resultant creature was designated Mew-2," he says, slowly, each word visibly draining something from him. "The M entity, in the case notes of the League investigators. It was … is … staggeringly powerful. Intellect and psionic skills far beyond its parent. Too far. After several months, it came to understand that it was imprisoned, and it … objected."

He says it with a weight that Artemis has never heard in anyone's voice before. She remembers the tone of that last diary entry, the shock and horror; she sees their twins now, in Fuji's eyes and in his voice, and knows that the last ten years have only slightly blunted their edge.

Poor man. She longs to make this better somehow, but she knows all too well that some things cannot be fixed, only dodged, over and over, because if they ever catch up with you everything will be destroyed.

"I'm sorry," she says, hearing the inadequacy of the words even as she says it. "I know it must be hard to talk about it."

Fuji shakes his head slowly.

"No," he says. "No, it's fine. If you have faced breach, then I really have no choice. You are owed some sort of explanation, and god knows you won't get one from anyone else." He sighs. "I can't tell you what breach _is_ , exactly, because I don't know. I only ever had access to data on breach radiation, and you seem to know about that already."

"It attracts breach," says Artemis. He nods.

"Yes. It does. Breach corrupts what it touches. It weakens reality, and that means breach can happen again more easily. But it does _not_ usually happen without a cause, I know that much. There must be a trigger."

"So if there is a way to stop Giovanni doing this …" begins Cass.

"Then the events will stop too, yes."

A pause. The growlithe are asleep again; the electabuzz scratches lazily at its belly. Outside, a bird that Artemis doesn't recognise is singing in a pear tree.

"I should finish the story," says Fuji. "Mew-2 broke out, as you know. I was one of very few survivors. It … allowed me to leave. I still see it, now and then. In the middle of the night, sometimes, I wake and it's there, it's just standing there, watching―" He cuts himself off abruptly, forces down another sip of water. Artemis can feel Cass trying not to stare. "I haven't been able to work out whether or not it's a hallucination," he says. "I feel as if it may be keeping an eye on me."

"I know the feeling," says Artemis, and something of her pain must show, because Fuji looks at her sharply, and then sadly.

"You do, don't you?" he says. "I'm sorry."

She shakes her head.

"It's okay. I'm used to it."

Another pause, this one the calm, almost soothing pause of shared experience. Cass shifts uncomfortably in her seat, obviously aware that the moment does not include her.

Eventually, Fuji speaks.

"I mention all this," he says, "because Mew-2 is still out there. And it is reasonable, I think, no matter what it did to us. And there aren't very many things in Kanto capable of challenging the power of the League, let alone of breach."

Artemis' heart skips a beat. She thought that was just something that happened in books but there it is, a nauseating murmur in her chest that makes her breath catch and her gorge rise.

"You … you think we should talk to it?" she asks, hoping she's misunderstood him.

"No," says Fuji. "I couldn't ask you to do that; it's far too dangerous. But I also think that if you wanted to stop breach, you would need something equally strong. And I am afraid that I can't provide you with that."

"But – it's a monster," says Cass. "You said yourself, it killed everyone―"

"Everyone who had a hand in its creation or abuse, yes." Fuji won't meet their eyes, is keeping his gaze on the pinsir, chewing the table leg again. "But it hasn't killed anyone since. Not in ten years, and I've been keeping a very close eye on the news for reports of unsolved cases in the area where I believe it's been hiding. I think it's just trying to live its life now. As best it can."

"Wait, you know where it is?"

"I think I do. When it comes to me at night – if it comes to me – I can feel its mind." Fuji is speaking faster now, the words stumbling over one another in their rush to leave his mouth. He's been carrying this for a long time, Artemis can tell, so long that he might even have told this to Emilia if she'd come, just because she would believe him and he desperately needs this thought outside his head. "It's there, it's – I can sense it, you see, it's a psychic-type, and it – it's as if it's taunting me, or – or trying to reach out, I don't know, or – but the point is it's somewhere north of Cerulean. Up in the hills. And it―"

He stops, as if someone has flicked a switch. Artemis waits, trembling a little with fear and anticipation, but nothing follows. Fuji is a statue of himself, still and silent.

"Mr―?"

"It's lonely," he says abruptly, silencing Cass mid sentence. "I don't think it wants or intends me to see it but it's so terribly lonely."

Nobody says a word. Artemis wonders if Fuji is right, or if he is only seeing in Mew-2 what he is too afraid to see in himself. She hates that she's second-guessing him like this, but it's difficult not to. Too many conversations with psychiatrists.

"You're right," says Fuji suddenly. "You're right, of course. I couldn't ask you to go and speak to it. But I'm afraid that I can't tell you anything that I haven't already said, and I don't know what more I can offer. I was only involved in the Mew-2 project, I don't know anything about the structure of the organisation – beyond its long-term goal of harnessing breach, that is. I can't ask you to go and find Mew-2. In fact, I'm going to recommend you don't. I really can't impress upon you how dangerous it is. On par with the legendary birds, if not stronger." He shakes his head again, decisively. "Forgive me. You're already in a lot of danger, and I really shouldn't be going making that worse."

Artemis hesitates for a moment, not sure how to respond, and then says:

"It's okay. I think I understand. It's all you can do, right?"

Fuji sighs, more out of anger at himself than out of sorrow.

"I'm afraid so," he says bitterly. "The League won't help you. I wonder if Giovanni really has gone rogue, or if they're just saying that to distance themselves from what he's doing. Wouldn't put it past them."

It had occurred to Artemis, but so far she had been doing a decent job of pushing the thought away, squashing it down into the back of her head with the ghost people and the other dark ideas that haunt her. Now it comes rushing back out, a bleak wave of suspicion that makes her heart pound and the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. It could be, she thinks. It could be that the conspiracy goes even deeper, and the League is hiding Giovanni, and that's why Emilia's investigation is going nowhere. Or no, Emilia herself might only be investigating to keep up the pretence that Giovanni's gone rogue, might herself be part of the plot―

No. Stop it, Artie. She unclenches her fists, stares resolutely at her chipped purple nails. Emilia is on her side. She _has_ to be. Giovanni may or may not be rogue, but Emilia _is_ a good person. Hopefully.

Her hands are doing the thing where they don't look real. She keeps on looking at them, and tries to pick up the thread of what Fuji is saying.

"… no," he continues, "there's no help coming from that quarter. And I quite honestly cannot think of anyone else in Kanto who would even believe you, let alone be minded to help. Mew-2 hates the League more than anyone, and I can't say that it's wrong."

"I think I get it," says Cass. "You really think it would work with us like that?"

"I don't know," replies Fuji. "But I think that if I were it, I would."

* * *

Emilia wakes the next day to a Saffron made cool and grey by the fading remnants of the storm, a few thin drops of rain pattering against her bedroom window. Something feels different about this morning, and after a moment she remembers yesterday: the trip up to Cerulean, the graveyard, the talk with Sam. The certainty and the calm determination that followed.

"Right," she says aloud, and throws the covers back. Time to get to work.

She dresses, checks on Effie (no change) and makes herself coffee, sitting in the kitchen so as to minimise distractions.

"Right," she says again. "Giovanni. Let's do this. I can't come at him directly. Why not? No League support. Is other support available? No. So you come at him from another angle. What could you do that won't require the League?" This question takes a while, and a second cup of coffee, but Emilia is in a problem-solving mood, and soon enough her mind bulldozes through it like all the others. "Disrupt the actual running of his operations," she answers. "How? Leak it. You have media contacts, don't you? Use them. Okay. What are the potential problems here? One, nobody's going to believe me – I'll have to find some sort of evidence. Two, Giovanni's response might well be to make Artemis' identity public. Three, I'm definitely not going to get my job back if I do this."

She pauses here for a moment, as she has to; she wouldn't be human if this didn't matter, the burning of these bridges that she has spent so much of her life building. But she can't see a way to avoid it: the League won't employ someone to cover up secrets if she's making a habit of blowing those secrets open, and the second they see the story in the news they'll know it was her who did it.

And, in the end, and with all due consideration and respect to all parties involved – fuck the League, right? Emilia is tired of pretending not to notice the disconnect between her politics and her job, tired of pandering to that special fear power has of powerlessness. Time to be an angry leftie radical again, like when she was a student. Yes, they'll fire her. They'll probably even arrest her; this is illegal in the kind of way that leads to people spending a long, long time behind bars. But Effie is dying and Artemis is in trouble, and Emilia is in a position to make things happen and she's damned if she's not going to take it.

So.

Third cup of coffee.

"Let's take the second one first," she says. "That's the most immediate issue. How will Giovanni respond? He'll be tied up in an investigation, for sure. But he might try to dismiss it with Artemis' psychosis, like he did with Lorelei. What if he makes her name public?"

This one's an issue. It takes her a moment to think out her response; Artemis is already in danger, and Emilia absolutely cannot do anything that might make that worse.

"It doesn't seem tactically advantageous for him," she answers. "Her friend Cass has seen this stuff too, after all. All it would take is for someone to believe the two of them for long enough to check for breach radiation, and if I do manage to get someone to print the story, they _will_ believe, at least for a little bit. And at that point, things get messy, fast, because if he's doing this then the state can't not prosecute."

It's not a sure thing. But it never is, is it, so that's going to have to do. Emilia puts down her cup and gets up, trying to pace away a sudden rush of nervous energy.

"So Artemis is probably safe," she says, hoping to convince herself. "Next: how do we get around the evidence thing?" By this point Nadia has come in to join her, pecking at seeds on the counter and occasionally nudging the direction of her thoughts with her own. "We'll need two things. Someone willing to believe, and a way of convincing them; it won't matter what sort of proof we have if the person we take it to refuses to admit breach is a possibility. Can we find either of those two things? The proof might be hard, but I can definitely find the person. Who, then? Simple."

Emilia takes a breath. The whole course of her thinking so far has led up to this moment, to making this leap away from the old order and into something new. It's a big leap, and she would be lying if she said she wasn't apprehensive about it. But it's time.

"Simple," she says again. "Mark Trelawney."

She has to take a moment to appreciate what she's just said. So too does Nadia, who despite the fact that she quite literally saw this coming is still surprised to actually hear her say it. Mark Trelawney. He's been chasing League secrets for as long as she's been hiding them; he even did a piece on the M entity breaking containment, back when they were both just starting to make names for themselves. Emilia has read it. It comes uncannily close to the truth, for something written by a guy who doesn't know what breach is.

An old enemy, then. But only if Emilia still has a job. And given that she probably won't by the time all this is done, it might be time to start thinking of him as an ally.

"Okay," she says. "Even he isn't going to believe in breach without any evidence. So, what do we have?"

Nadia jumps in with a couple of helpful memories: the email Emilia photographed, the transcript of Artemis' testimony from the Pewter incident that she still has a copy of. Not a lot, honestly, and nothing decisive – especially given the uncertain state of Artemis' mental health. But combine it with the fact that it will be Emilia herself delivering it, coming to him with desperation and a burning desire to take down the League, and it might be enough to win him over. The question is, whether that's enough to be publishable, and Emilia rather suspects that it isn't. Mark might believe her, but it isn't just him she needs on side. It's an editor, and, after that, the Kantan public.

"We'll need a plan," she says, thinking aloud. "Once I make contact with him, I'll need to show him there's a way into all this. What's that way in?" She hesitates, for once unable to answer herself, and glances at Nadia. "Any ideas?"

Nadia considers, and then dials up a memory for her: a worried face on the other side of a table in the back room of Pewter Gym, as dark and anxious as Emilia's own.

 _So, the Gym does like appointments with trainers to help you catch your first pokémon, right, and I came in yesterday for one of those …_

"Artemis? You already mentioned the testimony, Nadia. And I believe it, of course, but given what Lorelei said about her mental health, I'm not sure we can expect anyone else to. Not when it's so much easier to not believe it."

Nadia beams a swift pulse of negativity into her head, indicating that she has somehow misinterpreted things, then tries again: this time, Emilia feels herself momentarily back in the courtyard of the hotel in Cinnabar, taking Artemis' call.

 _Hello, Artemis. I wasn't expecting to hear from you so soon._

 _I guess I wasn't expecting to call you, either. I … I'm really sorry, I didn't tell you everything …_

"Because she called me?" asks Emilia, snapping back to the present like the cord of a slingshot. "Because … because I have her _number_ , right!"

It's kind of brilliant, actually; Giovanni and Abigail have come up with the idea for her. They have Cass calling them up whenever a breach event happens – well, Emilia can just ask Artemis to do the same. And if she can get access to the next breach event as and when it happens – and if the cops don't know she's been suspended – she could maybe use her League card to bluff her way onto the scene to show Mark …

"Nadia, you're the _best_." Emilia gets up, mind suddenly buzzing with potential actions. "Right. Phone calls. I should arrange a meeting with Mark, and then―"

 _HOLD_ , says Nadia, hopping closer. _EAT_.

Emilia hesitates, half out of her seat. For a moment, she considers arguing, claiming that time is of the essence – but as soon as she thinks it she has to admit that it isn't, really. Mark won't be able to meet right away; she saw him on Cinnabar, and even if by some miracle he has a rideable pokémon approved for flight over Kanto he probably isn't back yet. And Artemis – well, Artemis is nineteen. When Emilia was nineteen, she considered it an injustice if she had to get up before noon.

You're not with the League now, she reminds herself. You don't need to rush.

She sighs and sits back down again. Nadia is right: one thing at a time, Emilia. There will be time to be a subversive activist later. Today, first of all – breakfast.

* * *

When Emilia switches her phone back on a few hours later – it has been off ever since she ignored Lorelei's attempt to contact her the night before last – she has several missed calls: one from Lorelei, several more from Lorelei's PA, Yasmin. She briefly considers calling back, and then decides that that can wait until after she's spoken to more important people.

Mark first, and his number goes straight to voicemail; he must be busy. Emilia curses silently and does her best to leave an intriguing message.

"Mark, it's Emilia Santangelo. Normally I wouldn't do this, but normal isn't cutting it any more, so I think I have something for you. Something big. I don't want to say any more over the phone, so call me back when you get this and we'll arrange a meeting."

She cringes a little at the _normal isn't cutting it any more_ , once she actually hears herself saying it, but it's too late now, the words are out there and winging their way through the ether to Mark's ear, and so she simply sticks with it and calls up Artemis instead. This just doesn't work; Emilia listens to the robot voice telling her the number can't be reached right now, tries again, and after failing a couple more times decides she'll wait until later. Possibly Artemis is still on the ferry, temporarily cut off from the comforting radio links of modernity; possibly she's just somewhere where the signal isn't great. Either way, Emilia can wait. As long as she makes contact with Artemis before the next breach event occurs, things should be fine.

Which leaves her without anything else to do. For a while, Emilia hangs around in her apartment, dithering over whether or not to call Lorelei or Yasmin; then she decides that to hell with it, she's just going to ignore them. It's not like she's ever going back to the League, not if she's really going to do this. (She thinks this several times without noticing the repetition or sensing the anxiety beneath it.) Yes, Lorelei's handling of the situation hurts, considering their history – but there's nothing to be done. Clean break, Emilia. You need to stop thinking of yourself as a League woman.

These thoughts circle her head like sharks around a stricken lifeboat. Emilia gets on with her day, such as it is; she goes to the gym, has lunch at the Korean restaurant two blocks away, gets a couple of books out of the library for the first time in months. The thoughts follow her every step of the way, and when her phone finally rings later that afternoon, she is so relieved at the distraction that she almost forgets to check it isn't Lorelei before answering.

"Santangelo," says Mark Trelawney, crackly and quiet with distance. "You can't go calling people up and leaving them intriguing messages like that. All this excitement isn't good for my heart."

Emilia smiles.

"I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't make things hard for you," she says, slipping back into her usual voice. "Speaking of which, I wasn't calling in a professional capacity. All of this is, let us say, unsanctioned." She pauses, to let this sink in. "I'm done protecting the League," she tells him, although she half suspects she is really just telling herself. "This was always ethically dubious, but things have gone too far. So, Mark. How would you like to hear some state secrets?"

A long silence. Mark breathes out slowly.

"This doesn't even sound like you," he says. His voice is measured, appraising. Nadia, listening in through Emilia's ears, cocks her head on one side attentively. "What did you have in mind?"

"Where are you right now?"

"Cinnabar still. Why?"

"Can you get to Saffron? I'd like to speak to you in person."

"Sure," says Mark. "My partner can get me back by tonight – if this is serious."

Emilia almost laughs, but she knows it will come out harsh and hysterical if she does, so she holds back.

"Oh, it's serious," she says. "I can promise you that."

He sighs. Sounds frustrated, but interested.

"What the hell are you even talking about, Santangelo?"

"Meet me in King Nolan's Square at nine and find out," she says. "And Mark? My name's Emilia."

A hesitation: graceless, protracted. An outward exhalation.

"All right, Emilia," says Mark. "I'll see you then."

"Good. See you then."

Click. Emilia lowers the phone; Nadia gives her a look.

"What?" she asks, voice sliding back in time again. "I have a name. I filed the paperwork to have it changed. I like to get some use out of it."

Nadia tilts her head in what Emilia knows she considers an endearingly innocent way. In response, Emilia wrinkles her nose.

"I'm not talking to you," she says, picking up her library book again. "I'm reading."

She busies herself in reading, but no matter how fiercely she concentrates, she can't squash her sense of Nadia on the fringes of her mind, pecking at the idea that Emilia might benefit from talking to someone who isn't either dead or a bird.

* * *

There isn't much else that Mr Fuji can say. He wavers back and forth between telling them to find Mew-2 and forbidding them from doing so for some time longer, but it seems like he was telling the truth when he said he didn't know anything more that might help them. In the end, after it becomes clear they're talking in circles, Artemis thanks him for his time and offers to give his journal back. He does not want it, which kind of makes sense really, so she stands up to leave. He walks her and Cass to the door, moving like a man much older than he is, and when they say goodbye he clasps her hand awkwardly in his own.

"Good luck," he says, while Artemis desperately tries to conceal her panic at being suddenly grabbed. "If there is anything else I can do …"

"We'll let you know," says Cass, catching Artemis' eye and gently insinuating herself between her and Fuji, so he has to let go. (Pathetic, fervid gratitude, drowning out for a moment any sense of whether or not she can trust her.) "Thanks, Mr Fuji. You've, uh, really given us a lot to think about."

"I only wish I could do more," he replies. "Goodbye, then …"

The way he trails off makes him sound almost as if he doesn't want them to leave. It must be a relief, being able to talk about it at last, after all this time. Artemis feels for him, although (she is ashamed to admit) not enough to want to stay any longer.

"Goodbye," she says, finding her voice again. "Thank you."

They walk away in silence, down the path and right along the street, until they hear the sound of the door closing. Then Cass glances at Artemis.

"So like … are you okay?"

Good question. Artemis reviews the situation: she's been told the only person who can help her now is a genetically-engineered breach monster with a history of murderous violence; she's accidentally revealed she has hallucinations to Cass after she spent so long trying to hide it; her heart is currently going ninety miles an hour because her body is pointlessly terrified of human contact.

It's not looking great, honestly. But what else is new?

"I dunno," she says. "I guess?" Pause. Should she say something about the hallucinations? She can't tell. "Uh … I guess you probably worked out I still haven't told you everything, right."

"What? Like about your mental health? Yeah. Yeah, I … kinda couldn't help but hear that." It almost sounds like Cass is apologising for it, which is so backwards that it's very nearly funny. "I mean it's okay if like you don't wanna say. 'S personal. You know?"

Artemis sighs.

"I had a big psychotic episode a while back," she says. "Hallucinations and delusions and stuff. But like I still – I mean, I'm not – I mean, I don't know."

It's hard to pick the right words. Many doctors have told her that they don't believe she's schizophrenic, that she's too high-achieving and functional for that, that she's depressed with some psychotic symptoms; more than a few others are very adamant that she _is_ schizophrenic, are baffled that anyone would think otherwise. Others still have other opinions, because after all with the right combination of medication and therapy she can downgrade her delusions from concrete reality to malleable belief, and so often it has devolved into them arguing and arguing over what name to give the thing in her head while she sat there and listened and wished they would just tell her instead what they could do to help.

"I guess I'm just fucking crazy," she says, with a bitterness that she immediately regrets. Cass looks at her, and then away again, not knowing what to say; Artemis sighs and apologises.

"No, it's okay," says Cass. "I guess it must be hard to talk about."

"I'm not imagining breach, though," says Artemis, too quickly, filled with a sudden desperate need to make sure Cass knows this. "I'm not, I – all that really happened, there are other witnesses―"

"It's okay," repeats Cass. "It's okay. I know that. I … well, I _saw_ it. That weird glitch-looking guy."

"Right," says Artemis. "Right."

Silence. It occurs to both of them that they have stopped walking.

"C'mon," says Cass. "Let's go back to the Centre, okay? And let's … I dunno, watch a movie or something. I don't think we're gonna be able to make a decision about what to do next today."

Artemis can't look at her. She just can't. But she says okay, and touches Brauron to feel the comforting warmth of her, and together all four of them make their way back through the quiet streets to the Pokémon Centre.

She is grateful, but she doesn't think she can say it without the ugliness of her emotion showing, and so she says nothing at all.

* * *

The day plays out weirdly, like a movie of itself. Artemis has a brief and unsatisfying cry in the bathroom, repairs the damage to her make-up, and then goes out with Cass to find Lavender's single cinema, where they watch the only thing showing, an Unovan film about two vapidly pretty white people falling in love. It's subtitled in Kantan, but Cass speaks some English, and manages to make it entertaining by cheerfully mistranslating everything that anyone says. One minor character, a friend of the female lead, says something in an early scene that sounds uncannily like two Kantan words, _columnar dog_ , and she becomes in Cass' retelling the Columnar Dog Lady, her every appearance heralding an update on her search for fluted Ionic canines.

It is very childish, but what the hell, it's funny, and soon Columnar Dog Lady steals the show, her tiny subplot expanding until it crowds out the main story and builds to a dramatic conclusion in which her driving of the female lead off on a last-minute mission to catch the male lead before he leaves the country becomes a grim car chase where she attempts to escape the owner of the dog she has currently stashed in her back seat. At the film's end, there is actually a dog onscreen for a moment, in the background of the reunion scene, and both Cass and Artemis burst into helpless, ridiculous laughter, spluttering _column dog, it's the bloody columnar dog, she found it_ at the screen in a way that would probably have got them kicked out if there were anyone else watching with them.

How long has it been since Artemis last let herself be loud – take up space, make noise, be an inconvenience? It feels like ever since she decided she was a girl, or even ever since she started seeing ghost people, she has been trying to be small, quiet, unobjectionable. This is a release, and okay some of this laughter verges on the hysterical but it is, nevertheless, laughter, and it is like the purifying cold of a mountain stream.

Or what she imagines that's like, anyway. Artemis has never actually even seen a mountain stream, much less bathed in one, but whatever, that's not the point. She leaves the cinema smiling, watching Ringo waking up in confusion as they go from the twilight of Screen Two to the bright evening light, and only much later, long after they have got back and eaten their subpar meal in the almost-deserted Centre cafeteria, long after Cass has started falling asleep in front of the TV in the lounge, long after Brauron is asleep next to her bed and Artemis has lulled herself to sleep staring at the glow of her tail in the dark – only then, after all this, does breach return to her.

In her dream, she gets out of her bed, although at the same time she does not; it is one of those dreams in which you feel your back against the mattress the whole time, suspended between realities like a cobweb between two branches, ready to tear one way or another with the slightest movement of either. But one of her selves, at least, gets up and wanders out of the room, into the dull glow of the safety lights in the corridor, down the stairs and out into a darkness so profound that it cannot be night in Lavender, has to be somewhere else, somewhere without sky or ground, into the depths of which Artemis drifts like a toy car shunted across a hardwood floor, without aim or purpose.

In the middle of the dark, there is a light, an awful burning thing that spits and flares and sings something that is no kind of song she can name. When she starts to approach it, Artemis begins to panic, thinking that this is another nightmare, but then she takes a beat and the fear passes into the flat non-emotion of dream.

 _Breach_ , says the spire. _There has been a breach_.

Artemis says something, she isn't sure what. A question, maybe, because the spire seems to answer.

 _Here and now_ , it says. _I stride the blast; I am the post-horn._

Artemis says something else. It seems reasonable to her.

 _Marked_ , croons the spire, crackling upwards into the dark. _I mark the caesura._ Then, in response to whatever it is Artemis says next: _The jack of hearts. A breach. There has been a breach_.

"… this?" Artemis catches the last word of it this time, though the rest of the words slip away. The spire contracts, expands, whispers in a voice as cold as deep space into her head.

 _We are of the volta_ , it says. _You and I and they. We live in the moment between things. Angels of the breach. Of the breach. The breach._

It burns brighter and brighter, so bright that if she were awake she would have to close her eyes, except of course that she is asleep and so her eyes are already closed and all she can do is keep looking into the impossible, awful light, looking until the world is a bleached mess of aching red―

Artemis is woken by the pain, a sudden headache like a vice being tightened around her temples. She lies there for a moment, stunned, trying to remember what it was she was dreaming about, and then she hears something, or imagines she does, and she gets up and peeks through the gap between curtain and window.

Down there in the street, something is moving. It is broad and flat and the light from the streetlamp doesn't fall on it properly, as if it has been badly photoshopped into the scene. It moves back and forth, a coruscating field of distorted air like the ghost of TV static, and then it slinks away down the street, pressing itself low to the ground like a cat on the prowl.

Artemis stares. She touches her face, feels blood.

Through the crippling pain in her head, she thinks she can make out the smell of burning.


	16. 10: Rockets Rising

**10: ROCKETS RISING**

The thing about hanging around at home, waiting for things to happen, is that it gives Emilia far too much time to think. For instance – about the pot plant in the corner of the room.

It hasn't escaped her that touches of colour are starting to appear in the sides of Effie's fruit. The uncanny energy that made her able to conjure storms of razor-edged leaves and clouds of poison in her prime is now bent to different ends, speeding up the development of the fruit that would in the wild carry her seeds far in the guts of birds and monkeys to a degree impossible in any non-pokémon species. Pokémon are competitive like that. Always one step ahead of their animal and vegetable counterparts.

One of the books Emilia got out of the library was – and she knows this was a bad idea – a guide to cultivating oddish. She sits cross-legged in front of Effie and looks at diagrams of optimal potting solutions that make her want to cry. It doesn't matter, in the end, how many children Effie has. None of them will be _her_ , and she feels childish thinking it but it's the truth. Effie is already gone, really. At this point, she is nothing but a life support device for the unborn oddish incubating above her.

You are meant to pick the fruit, she reads. It decays fast, just as it grows. When it starts to ripen, you need to pick it, as animals would do in the rainforest, and you should cut it up, remove the seeds and push them just beneath the surface of the potting compost, lightly watered.

It _is_ starting to ripen. Emilia does not pick it.

She imagines doing it, imagines feeling the fruit tear away from the stem beneath, imagines a gush of sap like blood that she knows is completely impossible but which she nevertheless is deeply afraid of. She imagines Effie suddenly withering, her life's work complete.

Emilia should end this properly. She never has done before – not with Matt, or Niamh, or Sam. She did get the chance to say goodbye to Niamh, but she was young then, still too afraid of death to speak or do anything but clutch her hand and stare into her eyes. That's three deaths that Emilia has failed to mark with the proper respect. Effie should not be the fourth.

She still does not pick the fruit.

There will be about twenty seeds, of which between seven and ten will turn out to be viable. Emilia imagines between fourteen and twenty tiny feet, hairy with roots, pattering around the apartment, tracking dirt across the carpets.

She wonders suddenly what would happen if she did get arrested, who would end up raising the oddish in her stead. There are provisions for this kind of thing, of course; she has seen many arrests, knows the protocol for dealing with the partners of convicts. They get sent to family (which in her case Emilia would sooner die than see happen) or are fostered by state breeders or charities (better, but not by much) or, if the person in question is never going to leave prison again, they get released.

How long do you get for treason? Because that's what they'll call it, if she goes through with this: they'll want to see her get the maximum sentence possible, and the way to ensure that will be to spin this as treason, to say that in blowing open a League secret of this magnitude Emilia has in a material sense conspired against her nation. Maybe that would fly and maybe it wouldn't; Emilia is a little rusty in court, but she'd like to think she could fight that charge fairly effectively. They'd still get her, of course, with one thing or another, but she might be able to wriggle out of that one at least.

However long it is, and ignoring the complicated, terrifying mess that being trans in prison will be, it will be too long. The oddish won't know her, and the last link will be broken. Effie will really and truly be dead. And by the time Emilia gets out, so too will Nadia.

Emilia holds this thought for a while, the way she might heft a rock before skimming it, feeling the shape and weight of it. Then she throws it away over an imaginary ocean and stands up to go to her room and get ready to meet Mark.

Some prices have to be paid. It's not like Emilia has anything planned for the next twenty years, anyway.

* * *

King Nolan's Square: downtown Saffron at its most determinedly old-fashioned. No chrome or glass or skyscrapers here, just old yellowstones, faded from years of sun and rain but still very definitely yellow. The quarries where Saffron's unique stone was mined have long since gone bust – banana-coloured buildings do not suit modern tastes – but the city does its best to keep the historic buildings looking bright.

At the plaza's centre is the bronze statue of Nolan II, a jolly-looking man smiling benevolently at the artisanal bakery across the street. He is possibly Kanto's most famous monarch; he was, unusually for a king, a staunch socialist – the product of a fling with a student activist at university – and on the back of popular support deposed his father in the thirties when it became clear he was about to commit Kanto to supporting Nazi Germany in the Second World War. He abdicated a week later, signing the modern republic into being, and spent the rest of his life helping to set up the first of Kanto's workers' unions. Emilia vaguely remembers doing a project on him in school and learning that he died after being stabbed by a far-right ultranationalist.

She asked Mark to meet her here mostly because it was the first place that came to mind, but it occurs to her now that Nolan is an auspicious kind of man in whose presence to meet. Admittedly, he did get knifed, but in all other respects he did a good job of attacking a corrupt Kantan institution. Emilia could use a little of that luck about now. It's not something she's ever done before, afraid of waste as she is, but she takes a coin from her purse and flips it into the fountain with the others.

"Making wishes?" asks a voice from behind her. "That seems unlike you, Santangelo."

She turns to see Mark standing there, his hair still ruffled from a flight. He is wearing the thick pads on his shoulders that people wear to stop their pokémon's talons cutting into them while they are carried, and a little way behind him, shuffling its claws on the paving-stones, is a gigantic owl, almost as tall as he is. So he _does_ have flight clearance after all. Strange. Emilia has never seen his partner before.

"It's Emilia," she says. "Who's your friend?"

Mark turns, runs a hand across the noctowl's fluffy neck. Nadia tenses on Emilia's shoulder, uncomfortable at the presence of such a big predator, and Emilia sends her a calming thought.

"This is Alison," Mark replies, as she hoots and leans into the contact. "Who you have, by the way, tired out by making her carry me back to Saffron so fast, so I hope whatever this is, is on the level."

Emilia smiles, although the humour is slightly forced. This is awkward for both of them, meeting like this. It's going to get worse before it gets better.

"Nothing is on the level," she says. "What's the line? Something about ossified crypto-fascist institutions."

Mark smiles back. Again, slightly forced.

"Yeah," he says. "Okay. So what now?"

"Have you eaten?" He shakes his head. "So let's eat," she says. "I know a good place down the King's Road. Let's go there, and I'll tell you everything."

They walk together, Alison flying up and away to follow in the air, swooping from rooftop to rooftop. Nadia is a little happier with her up there, and Emilia is able to turn her thoughts towards making some idle conversation instead of keeping her calm.

"You've been investigating the skeletons?" she asks.

"Yeah," replies Mark, a little warily, unused to discussing this with her. "I suppose you're going to say they're ghost-types possessing fossils, right?"

"I could," says Emilia. "Or I could tell you that they were manifestations of a sentient breach in the fabric of reality."

He gives her a look.

"Right," he says. And then, a second later: "Wait, _right?_ "

Emilia sighs.

"More things in heaven and earth, Horatio. Here," she continues, pushing open the door. "Hi. Table for two?"

They sit down near the window. Across the street, Alison takes up a position on a rooftop, spreading her wings briefly and sending pigeons wheeling madly across the street.

"What kind of place is this?" asks Mark. Casually, as if he isn't thinking about what she just said. He doesn't fool her, but he probably doesn't expect to, either. Honestly, Emilia is a little startled herself. All those years of secrecy and she just blurts it out like that.

"Italian," she says. "You can tell it's good because all the Italians eat here."

She indicates herself. It's a tiresome, white people kind of joke, but after all Mark _is_ white, and it does a little bit to ease the tension. Enough to be worth her discomfort, anyway.

The waiter brings them menus, asks about drinks; Emilia orders lemonade for herself and a dish of water for Nadia. Mark goes for cider.

"Not drinking?" he asks.

"I don't," she says.

"Probably a good idea. Wouldn't want to give away any state secrets."

Emilia smiles as if this is all she's worried about.

"Oh, we'll get to the state secrets," she says. "No need to worry about that."

A few moments of silence, while they figure out what to order. Emilia has tagliatelle; Mark, ravioli. The waiter brings the drinks and takes away the menus, and then Mark gives her a quizzical look.

"Okay," he says. "I'm here. What was so important you had to drag me all the way from Cinnabar?"

Emilia takes a breath. She's really going to do this. She really, really is.

 _ONWARDS_ , says Nadia, which is what she says when she's trying to encourage people, and Emilia nods.

"All right," she says. "Here's the thing, Mark. I've spent a lot of time hiding things that maybe shouldn't be hidden. About ten years now, actually. I had a mantra about it: eight out of ten. As long as eighty per cent of the time I could say I was doing the right thing, more or less, I'd stay."

Mark says nothing. He watches her as if she's a stranger with a knife, something alien and dangerous.

"And maybe you can say that that wasn't the right thing to do," she continues. Now she's begun she isn't sure if she can stop; the words are coming from somewhere deep within her, rushing up like a spring tide. "I wondered about that, too. All the time, Mark. I mean Christ, I called myself an anarchist when I was younger. And I still believe that, I still think hierarchies are a bad idea. I just somehow ended up doing this too."

She's starting to say more than she means. Stop, she tells herself, and somehow against all the odds she does, and then after a second she continues.

"I'm going to start with the fact that I've been suspended for investigating this," she says. Mark's eyes widen, but he still stays silent. "And I'm not going to stop, either, which is probably going to get me arrested. What I'm saying is, however this turns out – I think I'm done with the League."

There, she said it. And maybe she's doing this because she's mad at Lorelei, maybe she's doing this because she's feeling protective about Artemis, but whatever her real motives, it's the right thing to do; she just can't go on hiding things any more. She takes a sip of her lemonade, and chooses her words.

"So now you know how things stand," she says, "let me tell you what's going on. Let me tell you about Giovanni Dioli."

* * *

Once Artemis has woken up properly, the fear hits her, hard as a freight train in the small of the back. She stands there at the window, shaking and trying to breathe, and then a little while after the breach entity has slithered off down the street she manages to make herself move and go into the bathroom to wash the blood off her face. There is a ghost person crouched in the shower, glaring above its respirator, vibrating with some powerful suppressed emotion, and Artemis plants her bloody fingers on the sink, grounding herself in the feeling of cold ceramic and the sound of the light buzzing.

"Brauron," she whispers. "Brauron, where …?"

She can't finish, choking on the words and on her panic, and of course Brauron doesn't come because she can't hear her, and she makes an ugly whimpering noise and then, finally, as she concentrates as hard as she can on the fact that the ghost person is not real, she manages to turn away from it and look into the mirror instead. She sees the red streaks on her cheeks, with clear lines washed in them now by her tears, and then looks past herself into the reflection of the shower.

Hum of electricity. Smooth cool of ceramic. Night bird sounds.

No ghost person. Artemis breathes out, then dips her head and washes her face. They'll be back, she knows; on a night like this, where the world feels unreal and she feels even less so, she'd be surprised if they didn't. But at least she's okay for right now.

In the mirror, her gross unshaven face looks back at her, greyish and scared. She has a sudden powerful urge to smash her forehead into the glass, to fill her head with shards; for a moment she is afraid she'll give in to it, and then she steps back from the thought as she has learned to and lets it drift out of the other side of her mind.

"Okay," she whispers. "Okay, okay, okay."

She washes her face again, scraping the clotting blood from the corners of her eyes, and then creeps back into the bedroom to find her phone. There is a shape in the shadow by the wardrobe that she is fairly convinced was not there before, but it isn't as scary as a proper ghost person, so she does her best to believe it it isn't real and sits down on her bed to call Emilia.

"Please pick up," she whispers, listening to it ringing. "Please. Please pick up."

Signal here in Lavender isn't great: the call cuts out before it goes through. Artemis tries twice more, and finally she hears a sleepy-sounding voice.

"Hello?"

"Emilia," she says. She can tell she's about to start babbling wildly but somehow can't do anything to stop herself. "Emilia, I – it happened again, there's – I don't know what it is or where, but―"

"Hold on a second." More alert now. "Artemis?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it's me. I – I don't know where it went, it just―"

"Okay, Artemis. Okay. Can you take a deep breath for me?"

Breathe. The thing in the corner is definitely a ghost person, or maybe it's her backpack. Breathe. There's something skulking around Lavender at night. Breathe. She remembers now what the dream was about. Breathe.

"Okay?" asks Emilia.

"Okay," repeats Artemis. "Okay."

Pause.

"Tell me what happened," says Emilia.

"I … I had a dream, I think, except I'm not sure it was a dream. The spire again, it spoke to me. Then I woke up and there was … _something_ outside. Like static but alive."

"A breach entity?"

"Yeah," says Artemis, relieved beyond measure that Emilia seems to believe her. "Yeah, a breach entity."

"Where are you?"

"The Pokémon Centre. In Lavender. Sorry, I should have – I mean, we came to speak to Fuji."

"It's okay," Emilia reassures her. "It's okay, I'm just asking so I know where to go."

"You're coming?"

"As soon as I can. I probably won't be able to get there for a few hours, but I'll talk to people. Some of them might get there sooner." Emilia's moving now; Artemis hears her voice crackling in and out, the scrape of things being moved in the background. "Can you still see the entity now?"

Artemis shakes her head, then remembers that she's on the phone.

"No," she says. "Hang on, I'll – I'll go to the window."

"Be careful," says Emilia, as she gets up. "If you don't think it's safe―"

"It's fine," replies Artemis, looking through the curtains down at the empty street. "It's not there any m―"

A scream. Deep, slightly hoarse. Artemis can't tell if the person making it is scared or in real physical pain or both.

"What was that?" asks Emilia.

"Someone screamed," she replies. "Oh god, I think it found someone―"

"Artemis? Artemis, stay with me here. I want you to call the police, report seeing a ghost and hearing a scream. I'll contact the League and get on my way over there. All right?"

"All right," says Artemis. "All right, I – I think I can do that."

She hates that she said _I think_ , hates that uncertainty, but when Emilia replies she sounds nothing but understanding.

"Good. Will you be all right if I hang up? Is your friend Cassandra there?"

"No. I mean, yes, I will, but she's – she's in a different room."

"All right. If you're okay, then."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay."

"All right. I'll see you soon."

The idea of calling the police is terrifying, but the scream and the breach entity are more so, and so Artemis manages, more or less. She does at the very least sound convincingly scared – the switchboard operator is very calm and professional, but she senses that he recognises her panic – and she is told to stay where she is, that the police are on their way. After she hangs up she hears something roaring, someone else shouting, and then lights start coming on up and down the street and Artemis is able to tell herself that things are going to turn out okay.

She sits on her bed, trying not to rock or chew her fingernails, and looks at the shape in the corner. Maybe it is her backpack after all. She could turn on the light and make sure but she can't bring herself to do it, because what if it isn't, what if the light reveals not rumpled fabric but oily plastic and grey eyes, and so she sits there and wishes Cass would come in and see if she's okay.

On the bedside table, Brauron opens her eyes and uncurls herself.

"Hey," whispers Artemis, holding out her hand. "Hey, Brauron. Can you come here, please?"

A purple blink, a flutter of her fins. Brauron takes hold of her outstretched fingers with her tiny hands and tugs gently before climbing up onto her wrist. Artemis holds her close and strokes her, feeling the warmth pulse through her arm in waves, and listens as the sirens begin to blare.

* * *

It's delicate work, and it has to be done fast. Emilia throws on her clothes and sprints out to tip off the League via the payphone two blocks away; she uses her old voice, the one no one she works with (used to work with) has heard, and calls the crisis hotline spouting as many classified terms as possible. There's been a breach, she says. In Lavender. BE-17-01, 'Spire', was sighted again, along with something new. The person on the other end of the line says wait, who is this, how do you know that, and then Emilia tells them she's a concerned citizen and hangs up.

Okay. That's the cavalry en route; the police will definitely call the League when they realise what they're up against, but Emilia would rather they get there sooner, to reduce the chances of anyone getting killed. Hopefully Artemis will be okay. Emilia was relieved to hear from her, despite not being able to get through earlier, but she would be lying if she said she wasn't worried by how she sounded. How many breach entities has the poor girl seen now? She just doesn't _need_ this stuff in her life, not now of all times. It makes Emilia angry to think about it, but of course she just has to swallow it. You want to help Artemis, Emilia, you have to stop Giovanni – and if you want to stop Giovanni, you have to make sure this incident plays out the way you want it to. And the next step there is making sure that Mark arrives at least as quickly as the League.

He took what she had to say surprisingly seriously, given that it was more or less unbelievable. Maybe her impassioned speech about how this was the end of her association with the League helped; maybe it was just that it was her saying it – _her_ , the League's terrier, now a rogue element. Emilia has a feeling that, more than anything else, it was the fact that it made sense. The Cinnabar House incident, the way Oak was hustled off air the other week while the gyarados attack was taking place, the skeletons – it all fits, if you know that breach exists, and now Mark does.

So why are you telling me this, he asked warily, not committing to any position on this information, and Emilia sighed. She explained about the suspension, about being out of ways to fight this. She said it was time that people knew. He'll need evidence, he told her. And Emilia said that she was working on it.

Well, now she has it. Or she will in a moment, anyway. If they're lucky, Alison will get Mark to Lavender before the League has a chance to throw together its response. As she hurries back through the electric twilight of Saffron towards her apartment, she calls him over and over until he picks up.

"Mark," she says, without waiting for his response. "There's been a development. You wanted evidence? It's waiting for you in Lavender."

"What? Emilia, it's three am―"

"And breach has just occurred in Lavender. I have a contact there who's just reported something like a cloud of TV static running down the street, followed by screams."

"What?" He does not sound prepared for this conversation in the slightest. " _What?_ "

"Mark. Get to Lavender, now. The League is inbound, but I think you can beat them there if you hurry. Get pictures, recordings, whatever you can. I'm going to try and bluff my way in with the cops, see what I can get from them." A pause. Someone staggers out of a doorway up the street; Emilia tenses reflexively, but they move away in a different direction. "Did you get that?" she asks.

"Yes. Yeah, I got that." Mark sounds much more awake now. "I'll prep Alison. See you there."

"See you there," she confirms. "Hurry."

She hangs up and calls the taxi company. The woman on the other end of the line is initially reluctant to send her a cab to Lavender, but there are no trains at this time of night and Emilia persists, makes it clear that she is both rich and desperate and that she will pay literally anything to be taken. After a while – and after Emilia has offered several wildly extravagant rewards – she finally agrees, and shortly after that Emilia and Nadia are installed in the back of a cab whose driver is slightly in awe of the amount of money he stands to make tonight. While Nadia makes herself comfortable on the seat next to her (she struggles to stay awake in the dark, and she is right now very sleepy), Emilia tells the driver she'll pay him even more if he gets her to Lavender before dawn, and the city becomes a series of passing lights that fly past and then fade into the dark either side of the motorway.

The road is quiet. To the south, Emilia sees a cluster of streetlights marking East Saffron's Galkirk Village, silent and humped in the night; other than that, she sees nothing. She does keep one eye on the sky, half expecting to see a noctowl soaring silently overhead, but if Alison is up there she doesn't see.

She thinks about Artemis, waiting in the Pokémon Centre in Lavender for the League lady to come and fix things, and wonders how to tell her that she's failed her.

The thing is, depending on how far Giovanni's research has advanced, a journalistic exposé might not even do too much to stop him. Abigail Grahame wrote in her email that if they found a way to reliably trigger breach, they'd be a matter of months away from achieving their goals – which Emilia takes to mean learning to control it. And, well, they definitely seem to have figured out how to trigger it. It's probably just a matter of time before ROCKETS has access to a power great enough to exempt it from even the laws of physics, let alone of Kanto.

But then, if he gets to that stage, Emilia wouldn't be able to do anything about it even if she still had League support. She just has to keep fighting, no matter how ridiculous the martial metaphor seems or how unassailable Giovanni appears, and hope that between her alliance with Mark and Artemis' interview with Fuji some kind of viable strategy emerges.

She forces herself to lean back in her seat. The cabbie asks if she minds if he has the radio on.

"Go ahead," says Emilia, trying not to bite her fingernails, and they drive on into the night, towards the forested hills of Route 8 and the thing lurking in the alleys of Lavender.

* * *

Long before dawn, Artemis has abandoned her room to make tea in the lounge and watch the twenty-four-hour KNBC news channel. She learns about the Sinnish general election (it looks like the centre-left Social Democrats are going to retain their majority) and a hostage situation where eco-terrorists have kidnapped a pokémon in Hoenn (resolved by someone the cops refer to as 'an alert civilian contractor' and the newscaster refers to as 'a young pro trainer'); she learns that a small gyarados has been overtaken by the fury and is rampaging near Fuchsia, where it is being monitored by Koga's people and will be relocated if it comes close to the city.

Nothing about the breach entity in Lavender, yet. Artemis supposes it's probably Emilia's job to make sure that she _doesn't_ end up seeing anything about a magic static monster on the news, but still, its absence unnerves her. It's not knowing again, that brutal uncertainty that haunts her like an unredressed sin, and she keeps watching until long after the sun has come up and Brauron has fallen asleep in her lap, when Cass comes in to find her.

"Oh hey, there you are," she says. "I knocked on your door but you weren't there."

"I got up early," says Artemis. She hasn't spoken in hours. Her voice sounds strange in her ears, as if it is seeping up through the floorboards halfway across the room. She wonders idly if she might be dissociating; decides that if she is it's only very slightly.

"That sounds like you," replies Cass, because of course it does, because Artemis has been very careful always to get up before Cass, so that she is ready to be seen by the time Cass' eyes land on her. "Have you eaten, or …?"

"No." A pause. Slowly, Artemis realises that she needs to say something else. "Let's have breakfast," she says.

She doesn't move. Cass hesitates, hovering in the corner of her vision.

"Are you okay?" she asks, and Artemis is on the verge of saying yes when she remembers that she doesn't have to lie about it any more.

"Not really," she says, settling down back into her body. "I … something happened last night." She clicks the TV off and stands up, scooping Brauron gently into her arms so as not to wake her. "Let's get breakfast and I'll tell you."

Cass has already proven herself a good listener, so Artemis shouldn't be surprised, but she is still grateful. She is quiet and attentive, and then at the end she says _well shit_ in that particular understated way she does that somehow makes things feel a little more manageable.

"Yeah," says Artemis. "Shit."

"Have you called Emilia again?" asks Cass.

"No, I think she's probably busy. The League will have sent her to like … deal with things, I guess."

"Right." Cass pushes Ringo's beak away from her ear and pours some mealworms into a dish, which he attacks with such gusto that he knocks it over, before glaring at her as if this is her fault. "Quit it, birdbrain, you got nobody to blame but yourself." Cass sighs. "So … what do we do now?"

"I don't know," replies Artemis. "Wait, I guess? I mean, she'll probably have something to say when she gets a chance. I just – I don't know, it doesn't feel right. I _saw_ it, and I heard someone screaming, and … and I really hope everything is okay and sitting here feels wrong."

It's about as honest as she has been since she left home, and it comes out all at once, without a breath. She is used to helplessness, honestly; even if she _can_ lift heavy objects all by herself, she's never been strong, not in any of the ways that really matter. But still, it gnaws at her. Like a rattata nestled among the coils of her intestines, chewing at the walls.

"Yeah," says Cass. "Yeah, I feel that." She sighs again. "Do you wanna maybe go out and have a look?"

Artemis shrugs.

"I dunno," she says. "I kind of get the feeling that that's just a way to get killed."

"Oh. Yeah, actually, that makes total sense."

Pause. Ringo hops around, frantically pecking at his spilled mealworms; Brauron wakes up, snatches a mouthful of them, and goes back to sleep again, next to Artemis' empty mug.

"At the risk of like killing the mood," says Cass, "I saw the cutest fucking picture of a meowth on Twitter earlier. Wanna see?"

This was absolutely not what Artemis was expecting, but it's very welcome, after the night she's had. She smiles, surprised, and Cass smiles back.

"Yeah," she says, as Cass reaches for her phone. "Okay."

* * *

Emilia is very aware, as she walks through the swing doors of the tiny building that passes for the Lavender Police Station, that whatever the legality of her actions so far, this one in particular is _definitely_ enough to get her arrested. Impersonating League personnel is bad enough – but impersonating League personnel with the aim of infiltrating a classified investigation? If she's caught, the fight against Giovanni is over already. Mark might have got the material he needs (she has not yet heard back from him, which she hopes means he's busy and not in the back of a police car), but as she was thinking earlier, that's probably not going to be enough. The more people that are around to get in ROCKETS' way, the better.

Still. She's here now. And she's going to make it work.

 _CRIMES_ , says Nadia.

"Yes," mutters Emilia under her breath. "Crimes."

She approaches the front desk and shows her card to the receptionist, who has the sleepy, startled look of someone whose shift ended a while ago but who has been forced to stay by an unexpected crisis. It's a pretty specific look, but Emilia has seen a lot of it. Lavender has never been very well equipped to deal with things like this. She has in the past pushed for a proper League office to be set up here, with at least a couple of Gym-standard trainer, but Lance's personnel and logistics people have always told her that it's too expensive.

Right now, though, all the look means to her is that the receptionist is nice and open to suggestion. Emilia smiles and hits her with the full force of her job title.

"Good morning," she says. "Emilia Santangelo, legal advisor to the Indigo League with special investigatory powers."

The receptionist blinks.

"Uh," she says. "Is this about that … thing?"

"Yes. Can you tell me who's in charge here, please? I came as quickly as I could, but communication has been terrible tonight. I keep telling Lance's people that we need an office here, but you know what the League's like." A reassuring smile: you and me, we're both cogs in the bureaucratic machine. We know what it's like. The receptionist smiles back.

"Yeah," she says. "I hear you. The force is the same." She picks up the phone on her desk. "I'll just let the super know you're here."

"Thank you," says Emilia.

 _GOOD_ , remarks Nadia admiringly.

 _Thanks_ , thinks Emilia, and starts running over the plan again, recalculating how far she can take this. The station superintendent has probably had contact with the League already tonight; she won't be the person they're expecting. A League card and a plausible manner will go some way to fixing that, but honestly, she needs to be in and out as fast as she can, before the _real_ League agent turns up. After that … well, after that Lorelei will know for sure what she's done, but Emilia is hoping her pride is sufficient that she won't want to admit to the cops that she's being outmanoeuvred by a rogue lawyer. And that's the important thing: a League reprisal will be much easier to deal with than an actual police one. She can deal with an angry Lorelei. She _can't_ deal with a couple of cops showing up on her doorstep to arrest her.

Not that the cops won't show up, after the story goes out and it becomes apparent that Emilia has leaked state secrets. But until that time, Emilia has to keep this within the League.

"Okay," says the receptionist, putting down the phone. "Go through there? He's waiting in the conference room."

"Thank you," replies Emilia, and follows her hand to the corridor leading deeper into the building. She has no idea which of the doors leads onto the conference room, but as she approaches one of them opens and disgorges a thickset man in his late thirties. Not the superintendent she's dealt with in the past. Clearly there have been some staff changes.

"You're with the League?" he asks, holding out a hand.

"Yes," she says, shaking it. "Emilia Santangelo. This is my partner, Nadia."

"Leon Manley," he replies. His grip is weaker than she expected. "I'm glad you're here. We're honestly a little out of our depth at the moment."

"I'm here to help," Emilia says, following him into the conference room. "Tell me what's going on."

What's going on, apparently, is a ghost hunt. They got several calls in the small hours reporting seeing ghost-types and hearing screams; they went to the location and found no pokémon, but an unconscious man with both second-degree burns and hypothermia. Since then, police have been combing the area, but so far the creature hasn't been found. Emilia asks about the man – identity, diagnosis – but the answers here are no more enlightening. He is, under the burns and the frost riming his face, somehow extraordinarily healthy; his medical records say he has arthritis and diabetes, but both appear to have been cured, and he also seems to be missing his pacemaker – though his heart is working fine without it.

"That's certainly strange," says Emilia, and she's good enough that she is able to make it sound sincere and not like an ironic understatement. "Is he awake? Has he been interviewed?"

"I think he is now, but we haven't spoken to him yet," replies Manley.

"Can you give me the details?"

He can. Emilia writes it down; that's someone else to speak to.

"Anything more on the entity itself?" she asks.

Manley shakes his head.

"Not a whole lot, I'm afraid. We got one report about it being sort of transparent and flickery; we're going to send someone down to talk to them to see if they can get a better description."

Oh, Artemis is just going to love that. Silently, Emilia asks Nadia to remind her to forewarn her.

"That seems very sensible," she says. "Anything more you can tell me?"

Manley shrugs. The gesture looks strangely helpless on such a big man.

"That's about it," he says. "I don't know. Is this – is it a ghost, really?"

"No," replies Emilia gravely. "No, I don't think it is. But we're equipped to deal with this kind of thing. The crisis response team should arrive soon, and once they're here it's just a matter of time." Small smile. Calm. Reassuring. "There aren't going to be any more victims," she says, hoping that it's true. "I can promise you that, sir. If it's still out there, we'll find it."

He looks like he needed that. He thanks her, asks if there's anything else he can do.

"I think you're responding to the situation as well as we could expect," says Emilia, which is the truth but which at the same time feels somehow dishonest. "Talk to your caller, get all the data you can, and sit tight. I've got to send this information back to the League, and then I need to manage the press and inspect the scene with my partner here. Have you run a trace, by the way?"

"Yes, but we didn't get much. Just interference."

Emilia nods.

"I see," she says. "Yes, that does sometimes happen. Nadia and I have experience with these events, so we'll see what we can get. I'll provide you with a full report once I'm done."

"I'm actually not sure what I'd do with it," says Manley. "But thanks. It's good to know the League has our backs."

"Of course," says Emilia. Time is running out. It can't be too much longer until the real agent arrives. Need to make sure Manley will be okay until the crisis team gets here. "Can you hold the line until the cavalry arrives?"

"I think so." He smiles, if weakly. Damn it, Lavender needs that League office. He's clearly even more out of his depth than Colbert in Viridian. "Thanks, Ms Santangelo. If there's anything else we can do …"

"You're already doing all you need to," she replies. "We'll solve this. You can depend on it."

A handshake, eye contact, a calm, grave smile. Emilia can do this on autopilot, and though she is a little ashamed of it she does, her mind racing ahead through the next few hours, trying to outpace the League team even before they're here. Thank you, sit tight, we'll be in touch, meaningless platitudes that add up to reassuring white noise; and she's on her way out again – without evidence, sure, but with a witness to speak to and a crime scene to visit.

Stepping out into the dawn light, she checks the time on her phone. 5.49. She tipped the League off at about three ten. Give it some time for the report to work its way through the system, a bit more for the team to get ready at the secure facility, a couple hours longer for them to fly out here. She has time, but not much. Where's Mark? No, worry about that later; for now, just get on the rest of the to-do list.

 _CALM_ , says Nadia, following it up with a cool wave of emotion that rolls over her and smooths the cracks in her mind like the tide washing over sand. _SCENE_.

Yes. She's right. Crime scene first, do the trace; if Nadia memorises the impression, that's admissible in a court of law. Good evidence, right there. Then – the witness at the hospital. And after that, find Mark and regroup, get the hell out of here before the League arrives.

 _ARTEMIS_ , adds Nadia, and Emilia nods, pulling out her phone.

"Okay," she says, heading down the street towards the crime scene. "Let's get this done."

* * *

Artemis doesn't sound very happy to be warned that the cops are coming to speak to her, but honestly that's completely justified, her being her in a town like this. Emilia tries to reassure her that it will be okay, and asks if she's learned anything from Fuji.

"Um … maybe," she replies. "I don't really know. I found out about what they were making at Cinnabar House. This Mew-2 thing?"

"Mew-2?" The name is unfamiliar. Emilia assumes it must be the official name of the M entity, but it's best to make sure.

"Some sort of legendary breach pokémon," explains Artemis. "I think you were right. They wanted to control breach, so they … mutated this pokémon called mew with breach radiation to try and turn it into a breach entity."

"So that they could capture and train it, right," says Emilia, seeing the line of reasoning. It's terrible logic, bafflingly cruel, but okay, she sees how it happened. Like sending those people into the zapdos nest. Lorelei's anomalous resources have a lot to answer for. "Did you learn anything else?"

Artemis hesitates.

"Not really," she says. "I mean, that's all Fuji knows about breach. He only really worked on that one project."

"You hesitated," says Emilia, hoping this isn't pushing her too far. "Why?"

She can see the police cordon up ahead, around the corner, so she stops here, leans against a wall for a moment.

"Artemis?" she asks, when she doesn't respond. "What is it?"

Another long pause, so long that Emilia has to take the phone away from her ear for a moment to look at it and check she's still connected.

"We … we might have found out where Mew-2 is," says Artemis.

It's the kind of news that feels like mechanical trauma, like a blunt object to the gut. Ten years. Ten years since the monster vanished into the wilderness, beyond the ability of the best League tracers to locate – and now a nineteen-year-old kid has found it. Did Fuji know all this time? Could they just have got the information from him? Impossible to say, Emilia supposes, at least until she learns more about how this happened. But for now: stay calm. A conversation has to be had here, and right now Emilia doesn't quite have the time to have it.

"Okay," she says slowly, trying to hide her shock. "Okay, Artemis, I … I have to confess, that's not what I was expecting."

"Yeah, me – me either."

"I can imagine." Calm. Make an appointment. "I'm in the middle of this right now," she says. "But this is something we definitely need to talk about. Can I come to the Pokémon Centre afterwards?"

"Yes!" says Artemis, all her desperate need for help massing and breaking through into her voice. "Yes, I – oh god, yeah, I'd … really like that."

It hurts to hear her like this. Why do these things always happen to the most vulnerable people? Because they're vulnerable, she answers herself, but it's not a very satisfying answer.

"Okay," she says. "Can you hang on for a little while longer?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so. We're okay."

We. Cassandra is sticking with her, then. Emilia hopes Artemis' trust in her is founded.

"All right," she says. "I just have a few things to take care of. Will you be okay with the police?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Not the most confident response Emilia has ever heard, but it'll have to do.

"Good. I'll be there soon, okay?"

"Yeah," says Artemis. "Okay."

She hangs up and Emilia lowers her phone, glances at Nadia.

 _M MONSTER_ , she says, nervously.

"Yeah." Emilia taps the edge of her phone anxiously against her teeth. "This is … going to be complicated. But – one thing at a time. All right? Crime scene first."

 _SCENE_ , agrees Nadia. _SCENE_.

They make their way around the corner and past the line of police tape, where several officers are standing around doing their best to hide their confusion from the interested civilians watching from windows and front doors. When she flashes the League card, their eyes light up in a way that makes her heart sink. They really think she might be able to do something. And okay, maybe she _can_ , but not like they think, and for some reason this deception, unlike all the others, really seems to bother her.

"It's Detective Whiting, right?" she asks, of the woman with the severe ponytail who meets her. "I think we met before."

"That's right," says Whiting, looking surprised. "When the Ashbury lodge got disintegrated. I didn't think you'd remember."

Emilia smiles. She always remembers. Sometimes, admittedly, Nadia helps dredge up the relevant memory from the depths of her unconscious (and in fact that is what happened this time), but still. It counts as remembering.

"I try not to forget faces," she says, which is mostly not a lie. "Talk me through what we've got here."

Whiting gestures towards a spot up against someone's garden wall that looks no different to any other.

"That's where we found Mr Anderson," she says. "No sign of any kind of an attack, whatever happened. We don't have our own forensics team out here, but the Saffron force is sending over the Eastside team to help out. They should be here soon."

Emilia scans the spot: cracked tarmac, mossy brick. Just like everywhere else. No blood, no scorching, no anything at all. The attack was sharply focused, then: it hit the target and nothing else, and in such a way that no blood was drawn or clothing burned. What the hell _was_ it, then? Anderson was covered in both burns and frost, and neither fire- nor ice-type moves are renowned for their accuracy; they tend to move in clouds, leaving a distinct residue of soot or hoarfrost. It's a warm morning, so ice might have already melted – but in which case, where's the water?

Something isn't right – which is honestly normal, given that this is breach, but though some of the breach entities Emilia has encountered so far have used some things that might be recognised as pokémon moves, they have at least stuck to moves that actually exist. She wonders if there are breach moves, multityped or typeless bursts of deadly radiation, and suddenly feels uneasy. Better check with the doctors about Anderson's rad count.

None of this is helpful right this moment, however. Time is wasting, and Emilia has to get her trace done _now_.

"You have a psy officer?" she asks.

"Yes. Chambers over there." Whiting indicates a man standing some way off, a slowbro at his feet. "We didn't get anything, just static."

"That does often happen with these."

"So you know what it is?" asks Whiting.

"I suspect," replies Emilia. "I'll have to wait for the League team to arrive to be sure. Do you mind if I run my own trace? Nadia has experience of this pattern of interference. Sometimes she can pick something up."

"Sure," says Whiting. "Go ahead. We're really just waiting, anyway."

Nadia moves to Emilia's hand, and beneath her closed eyelids the past draws itself in lines of silver and purple. Whiting and Manley weren't kidding; there is, as usual, a lot of static. But Nadia is probably the single most experienced breach tracer in the world at this point, and Emilia herself is probably the world champion of interpreting those traces, and after a little tuning Emilia finds some of the static resolving itself into something that looks roughly humanoid. It's recoiling, clearly caught in the moment of falling, arms flailing and head back; there's no face – that would be too much detail to hope for – but it's probably Anderson.

Now she knows where he was, she turns to look in the direction he was facing. There's another something here, another bleached outcropping of ruptured psychic energies, and it … looks surprisingly human. Again, no details, but those are definitely arms and legs, and in all the right places. One hand raised, pointing lazily at the falling man. The other pressed to its head, in a gesture that Emilia knows very, very well. She's made it herself, many times, when listening to someone on her phone or through an earpiece – or, in the early days, when trying to hear what Nadia has to say to her.

It might not be, of course. It might be that this is just part of whatever attack the thing was using; it might even be that this is all an artefact of the trace, a displacement of Anderson's past presence onto the other entity. As soon as Emilia thinks this, Nadia protests, radiating a powerful negativity – and she's right, honestly. Nadia wouldn't make a mistake like that. If there's something wrong with the trace, she would have flagged it.

Emilia opens her eyes to see Whiting looking at her hopefully.

"You were tracing for a while there," she says. "Does that mean you found something?"

"Yes," replies Emilia, asking herself what it would mean if a breach entity were receiving orders and not liking the answer she comes up with. "Unfortunately, I think I have."

* * *

Next, the hospital, although Emilia's efforts here don't yield much in the way of results. Anderson is lucid, and all things considered is doing rather well, but he doesn't remember much about his attacker. A flickering in the air, a bright light, an impact on his chest that left him feeling breathless and pained and somehow powerful, even as he fell over and blacked out; that's about it. Ordinarily, this would be good news, making as it does her usual obfuscatory work easier, but today it's the opposite of what she wants. Anderson's bizarre injuries – and cures – will have to stand alone as proof, without his supporting testimony about the breach entity that caused them. She gets what she can, including a statement from one of the doctors overseeing his care, and then gets out.

It's a well-timed exit. As she crosses the car park of Lavender's little medical centre, she sees a League togekiss descending towards the town, huge wings flared against the lightening sky. Too far away to tell who it's carrying, either by sight or Nadia's psionics, but clearly someone here to do Emilia's job. If she had to make a guess, she'd say Eleanor – Emilia's pretty sure she has the necessary security clearance – but honestly it doesn't make much difference. Emilia's not planning on sticking around to say hi.

The togekiss lands somewhere near the police station. Emilia watches it with an emotion she cannot readily name. Some envy in there, perhaps. But relief too. After ten years as a League spook, it's nice to be doing something uncomplicatedly _right_ , for once.

She shakes the thought away and keeps walking, away from the hospital to she doesn't know where, phone to her ear.

"Mark?" she asks, when he picks up. "Where are you?"

"Moon's. It's on the high street."

Leave it to a journalist to find the one chain coffee shop in a small town full of independents. Probably it's the only one open. It's still not even eight o'clock.

"Did you get anything?" she asks.

"I think so. You?"

"Maybe. Hang on, I'll be with you in a few minutes."

"All right."

She hangs up and keeps walking. Five minutes later – _literally_ five; this place is even smaller than Cinnabar – she is pushing open the glass door of the Moon's next to the pharmacy, where Mark has the room all to himself, with the exception of a sleepy barista who looks visibly shaken to have not just one but two customers at such an early hour. Where Alison is, Emilia doesn't know. Sleeping outside somewhere, probably. Or resting in her ball.

"Hi," she says, dumping her bag on a seat at Mark's table.

"Hi," he says, sounding subdued. His phone and camera lie on the table, either side of the remains of a strong black coffee.

"Are you all right?" she asks.

Mark stares at her. Dark circles under his eyes, reddish stubble around his jaw. He doesn't actually say _what do you think?_ but his face does the talking for him.

"I think I just saw the universe break," he says.

"Okay, so that's a no," says Emilia, switching automatically to professional mode. "Let me get a coffee, and you can tell me all about it."

She places her order (latte for her, a water dish for Nadia) and sits down, arranging her face into something soothing and expectant. Mark takes a breath, and begins.

"I … well, obviously I got here first," he says. "Found the place pretty quick. It's not big, after all. The cops were already there, they'd cordoned off the area, but I just … there was this smell. Like burning. And this sound."

 _SPIRE_ , says Nadia, conjuring the memory, but it isn't necessary. Emilia knows well enough what he's talking about.

"Like a big knife being sharpened," she suggests, and Mark nods, unsurprised.

"Yeah, I thought you'd know, San― Emilia." He sips his coffee. "No one else seemed to notice it. I guess they were too busy, and anyway these are Lavender cops. You know?" Emilia nods; she knows. "So I tried following it, because I think you said something about burning, right, and it's the strangest thing. It was so easy to follow. I'm not a bloodhound or an arbok, I don't have a particularly great nose or anything, but there it is. I steered clear of the cops, went out of town past those houses up by the station, and there …"

He stops. It's very unlike him, this halting, quipless speech. No subversive jokes now. No wit or life at all, just naked fear. It's unsettling to see him like this, after all their years of trading barbs in the face of supernatural disasters. Emilia is forcibly reminded that she is perhaps _too_ good at her job, that Mark has never seen one of these things before, no matter how strongly he suspected.

"Take your time," she says. "It's not easy, that first encounter. They feel wrong." She is thinking of the M entity. She saw it once, the way the world bent around it like the model of a gravity well in the National Science Museum. Reality refracting in a broken haze around it, warped by the strength of its psionics. She only saw it for a second before she got pulled back inside the armoured car and League security took over, but it was more than enough to burn the image into her mind forever.

Nadia looks up from her water and chirrups uneasily. She remembers too, although she didn't see it except through Emilia's eyes. Even secondhand, the memory has power.

"You're telling me." Mark sighs. "I saw it on the edge of the woods, just sort of hovering there. Big blotchy static thing, like you said. I went for my camera, but the fucking flash was on, wasn't it? So it saw, and it … objected."

Emilia wants to ask if he got pictures, but she waits. He either has them or he doesn't; rushing things won't achieve anything except upsetting him.

"Go on," she says. "What next?"

Mark shakes his head.

"I don't know exactly. It paused, sort of shuffled itself around. Did you ever see one of those toy trucks that turn into robots? Like that. Wouldn't say it looked human, but it was human- _shaped_."

Like with the attack on Anderson. Emilia almost doesn't want to ask about what it did next, but she really has no choice.

"Did it put a hand to its ear?" she asked. "Or its temple? Like―"

"―someone receiving a message," finishes Mark. "Yeah. Yeah, it did."

A pause. The barista brings Emilia her latte; she thanks her, does not touch it.

"Obviously, that was when Alison and I got the hell out of there," Mark says. "Couldn't fly, whatever it was. And then … then I came here and waited for this place to open."

Emilia nods thoughtfully.

"Do you have pictures?" she asks, as gently as she can.

Mark laughs, slightly too loud for it to seem like he finds anything funny.

"I'm a reporter," he says. "Of _course_ I have pictures."

"Then let's do this, Mark," says Emilia. "I have pictures of the victim's injuries, a report from the doctor, testimony from Pewter and Nadia's trace. I think we have what we need." She's uncomfortably aware that she's saying this for her own benefit at least as much as his. "Let's do this," she says again "Let's hit Giovanni, before he ever summons another of those things again."

He looks a little pale, but Mark nods every bit as firmly as she speaks.

"All right," he says, eyes bright. "You're right. That – thing, whatever it is, that has to stop. And hey, I'm not going to turn down the story of the century." That sounds a bit more like him, Emilia is pleased to note.

"That's what I was hoping for," she says. In the back of her head, Nadia's approval registers like the memory of a sunrise. "We need to get back to Saffron, and get this out there. My apartment at two? 77 Upper Holme Street. I need time to make copies of my material, and if you want to send me questions I can write up interview responses for you."

"Sounds good. Only – let's make it Northcote Street."

Northcote Street: in the heart of Whitford, where the newspapers live. If Emilia remembers correctly, _The Cataphract_ is based out of an office on that same road.

"You want me with you on this?" she asks, and Mark nods.

"Yeah," he says. "I walk in with a bunch of crazy theories – they might run with it, they might not. _You_ walk in …"

"And they start listening, right." Emilia nods.

"Yeah. Long enough for me to show them the proof, anyway." Mark knocks back the last cold dregs of his coffee. "Okay," he says. He sounds better now, back from the Twilight Zone into his usual world of government intrigue and breaking news. "Okay, I'm going to go on ahead and start drafting this. See you at two?"

"See you at two," confirms Emilia. "And Mark?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

He hesitates half out of his chair, looking at her like he's trying to work out if she really means it or not. For what it's worth, she does; she isn't sure if any of this will even matter, in the end, but she has to try, and so she is grateful.

"Sure," he says, eventually. "Thank _you_. I know I give you all that shit about working for the Man and all – but I also know that this can't be easy for you."

Emilia smiles thinly.

"It's the weirdest thing," she says. "It's just been getting easier and easier."

* * *

The cops turn up at the Centre pretty soon after Artemis gets the call from Emilia, and take her into a side room where they ask questions and try not to openly stare at her. (She is, she has noticed, possibly the only person in Lavender other than Mr Fuji who isn't white, to say nothing of the other reasons why they might be staring.) They seem kind, inefficient, hopelessly embarrassed by her existence in a way that makes her want to cry, and they busy themselves taking notes on her hesitant description of the thing as a big flat square of moving static. It's less terrifying than her last encounter with the police, but it's quite depressing. She's glad when they're gone, although the feeling does not survive what Cass has to say next.

"So I just called my aunt," she says, looking up as Artemis comes back into the lobby. "You know, to tell her about the latest weird event, like we discussed? And, uh … she said something kinda ominous."

Artemis could be scared right now, and if she hadn't been up since three am being scared she probably would be, but she's tired, and instead she just feels like she might cry.

"Yeah?" she asks, sitting down next to Cass and settling Brauron in her lap. "What?"

"She said, um … she kind of asked how I was getting on with you, you know? Because, um … you know." (Yes, Artemis knows. Because Artemis is a fucking schizo boy who thinks he's a girl and why would anyone want to hang out with her.) "And I said it was okay, you know, kind of trying to avoid the question, and then she said thanks for doing this and it'll be okay, because it's not going to be for much longer."

Artemis holds herself very, very still. She is afraid that if she moves she might grab Brauron hard enough to hurt her. And yes, Brauron has shrugged off slash wounds and bites without effect, and probably even Artemis isn't actually strong enough to properly hurt a healthy pokémon, but whatever.

She hears herself making a response from somewhere on the other side of the room.

"Did she expand on that at all?"

"Well, I asked, obviously, but like I didn't get much out of her," Cass replies, looking nervous. "But she said, like … remember that her cover story was that she was on some national security project, and she needed proof or data or something? Well, she said she almost had all the data she needed. That she and her team were working on a solution, and soon they were going to be able to put a stop to all the weird events for good."

An end to the outbreak of breach events. What does that mean? It means that Giovanni and his team are nearly there. It means that they've finally managed to do what they set out to over ten years ago, when they made Mew-2 in the lab hidden in Cinnabar House. It means that they've figured out how to control breach.

What do you do, once you've got that kind of power? Once you can sculpt genes like clay, turn day to night, animate skeletons with the power to smash through walls? Fuji said the goal was to fight breach with breach, but when has anyone _ever_ obtained massive power and not abused it? Artemis doesn't know a whole lot, the world remains consistently nonsensical and terrifying to her; but she does know this: the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and in many cases, when you poke at them a little, those intentions turn out not to have been so pure after all.

She thinks of Chelle, for the first time in several days. It feels like they last spoke a lifetime ago, on that day when she left Pewter – when she really thought she was escaping, instead of fleeing into something just as bad. She'd almost prefer the cold tomb of home to this. (Almost.) But she thinks of Chelle, of her preaching the hermeneutics of suspicion and saying _always ask who benefits_ , and wishes she was here with her. Not like Chelle's self-taught socialism would hold any answers. But it's nice to have someone around to say the right words, especially if she's your oldest friend.

Right now, though? Right now it's just Artemis and Cass. (And can she trust her? _Can_ she?) And Brauron and Ringo too, of course, and they're definitely helpful for keeping spirits up, but honestly there's not much either of them can do against either Dioli's team or breach – let alone Dioli's team _with_ breach.

She breathes in, and out. Cass looks at her, and says something, and a moment later the words reach Artemis' ears:

"Are you okay?"

"Nope," she says. "No, I'm really not, Cass. But" (another breath, a wish that her Xanax was not up in her room but here, in her hand) "I guess it doesn't change anything." She sighs. "Emilia will be here soon, I think. Then I guess we can talk about it."

"All right." Cass fiddles with her bracelets. "I, um … just so you know, Artemis, I'm like, here and stuff. Even if we end up having to chase down a legendary pokemon. You know?"

Artemis doesn't think Cass knows how hard it is for her to believe that, and so she doesn't think Cass is trying to help her remember it. She's just being nice, without realising how nice she's really being. Or is she? No: stop second-guessing her, she orders herself. Cass is nice, period. That's why she ended up helping Giovanni's people, and it's why she's being nice now.

"Thanks, Cass," she says. "I … yeah. Thanks."

"I'm gonna make some coffee in the lounge," says Cass. "Do you want anything?"

"Tea," replies Artemis. "Please. If that's okay."

"Okay. Never made that, but how hard can it be?"

"You just put the thing in the water. And then milk. A tiny little bit."

"Okay," repeats Cass. "Thing, water, milk. Gotcha."

The lounge is empty except for them; Lavender isn't a popular stop on the trainer journey. The historic graveyard here attracts ghosts, but once you've come here and convinced one to partner with you (or failed to) there's not a lot of reason to stay, unless you're big on long walks in the hills. Which some people are, but generally not children, and that's what most trainers are.

So they sit, and drink their drinks, and after a little while Artemis hears a familiar voice through the door to the lobby. She sits up and looks over the back of the sofa, and a moment later sees Emilia coming in, smoothing her hair and talking to her natu.

"… me to prep that later," she says. And then: "Artemis! I'm sorry to have taken so long."

"Hey," says Artemis, standing up so fast she almost knocks Brauron from her perch on her breast. "Hey, I – thank you for coming."

Emilia smiles, although she looks very far from happy.

"It's the least I could do," she says. "I was here anyway, because of the breach entity, and there's plenty for us to discuss." She looks at Cass. "And you're Cassandra Grahame, is that right?"

"Um, I guess technically," she replies. "It's Cass."

"Cass, right." Emilia shakes her hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Can we speak in here, or …?"

"I think so," says Artemis. "I haven't seen any other trainers all day."

"All right." They sit. Brauron climbs up onto her partner's shoulder and gives Nadia a suspicious look, evidently still harbouring some resentment from their last meeting; Ringo perches on the table and eyes her up, gauging whether he can take her in a fight. Faced with this combined assault, Nadia twitters nervously and relocates to the other side of Emilia's head.

"Ring- _o_." Cass beckons him over, points him over to the arm of the sofa. "Stay," she says. "Uh, can I get you some coffee or something?"

"No, thank you." Emilia pauses. Something seems off about her, although Artemis can't figure out what. Something she's figured out how to hide, anyway. "So," she says. "I understand you met Dr Fuji."

"I think he's just Mr Fuji these days," says Cass. "But yeah. We did. And, um, well. Artemis told you, right?"

"Yes. You found Mew-2." Another pause. "I have a confession to make," says Emilia, and the words crash into Artemis' chest like a sledgehammer. What is it? What _now_ , after Cass, after everything? "I worked on that case," Emilia tells her, carefully maintaining eye contact. "You know what my job is, don't you? I make sure people don't know things. And that was the very first thing I made sure nobody knew about, way back when. Mew-2, and Cinnabar House."

Artemis stares. She wants to protest, to say that that can't be right, to ask why Emilia would say something like that, but her throat is sealed, blocked up by the way her heart has thumped its way out of place and into her oesophagus.

"I should have told you immediately," says Emilia. She does not look pleased with herself. "I needed you to trust me so that you'd let me help you, and I thought that that, after what you went through that night … well, I didn't think that would help."

Artemis can feel Cass' eyes on her, trying to gauge what sort of response she should be making. She has to say something, she knows, has to take the lead here; she's the one who's been betrayed. (Again.) And she's got to respond, except … except Emilia lied. And she doesn't even know how to begin to answer that.

"But," she says. "But you …"

Emilia nods.

"Yes. Yes, I know. I made a mistake―"

"Did you?" That's the worst of it. Emilia lied, yes – but honestly, what else _could_ she have done? The awful truth is, there's no way in hell Artemis would have trusted her if she'd known this. Artemis knows this, the way she knows that gravity pulls down. The way her brain works, the way she sees ghost people in shadows and pursuers in passers-by, there's just no chance that she would have taken this news as anything but proof that Emilia was like the rest of them, part of the conspiracy. Emilia looked at her like a problem and found a solution, and sure, it sucks to be looked at as a problem but sometimes that's what people are, especially people like Artemis. Problems. "Did you really?" asks Artemis. "I mean … you're right. I wouldn't have believed you."

Emilia looks taken aback.

"I'm sorry, that's not the response I was expect―"

"I know." Artemis sighs and looks away. Brauron curls around the back of her neck, a comforting question mark of warmth. "I … I don't know what to say. I wouldn't have trusted you. And I did _need_ to. But …"

"But I still lied."

"Yeah."

A long silence. Cass fidgets with her bracelets. Out in the lobby, the receptionist's computer goes _bing_.

"I'm sorry, Artemis," says Emilia. "You deserved better from me. And – and it gets worse, actually."

"What? What else have you …?"

Emilia closes her eyes, shakes her head.

"I'm sorry," she says, and now for the first time Artemis can hear the emotion in her voice, straining against her professional calm. "I … the League …" She sighs. "Lorelei has suspended me," she says. "The investigation is over."


	17. 11: The Monarch of the Breach

**11: THE MONARCH OF THE BREACH**

Artemis has had some unpleasant conversations. Coming out to Chelle's mother for the sake of the deed poll was pretty awkward; trying to talk to her parents about her future is always stressful. Or about her past, actually. (You said to us: _Roald Dahl died of leukaemia_ , and it was the scariest thing we ever heard you say.) Or her present, for that matter. (You're okay, aren't you? Yeah. You're okay. Functional, anyway, like they say.)

So she has experience of bad conversations. But this – this is a bad, bad conversation, a conversation that starts off poorly and spirals down to even darker places, and even though Emilia assures her that she's doing all she can, that she's leaking this to the press to try and attack Giovanni from whatever angle she can find, she isn't sure she can drag herself back up into the light.

"I'm sorry," Emilia says. "I wish I had better news. Giovanni somehow got hold of your mental health record, and he used that to convince Lorelei your testimony was worthless. And since they didn't find any evidence of wrongdoing at the old Rocket site …" She sighs. "I'm repeating myself," she says. "Sorry. I'm – it's been a rough week."

It happened, then. Like always: nobody has to believe Artemis if they don't want to, because it's all in her head, because she's delusional and recovering from a psychotic episode and all the rest of it. Because she's crazy.

She's used to it. She is. It doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

"Okay," she says softly. "Okay."

The silence has an almost physical weight. Artemis can hardly breathe through it, let alone speak, and she is glad when Cass finally speaks for her.

"So what do we do?" she asks. "We can't just let him get away with all this."

"I know." Emilia straightens her back, and something about this tiny movement seems to draw all her energy back together. Artemis is impressed, despite herself. She knows well enough how much it takes to recover after this sort of thing, to sit back up and keep on going. Emilia is tougher than she is, by a long way. She might have lied (and what else has she lied about, asks the voice in her head, before Artemis pushes it away again), but she's tough at least. "That's why I'm going to the press. I've got a meeting with the editor of _The Cataphract_ this afternoon; you should check the website later today. I want your permission before I follow through, though. I'll keep your name out of the papers, but if there's an investigation, you might be called on to testify. Is that okay?"

Artemis starts, feels Brauron tighten her grip on her clothes.

"I mean – um – absolutely, if it'll help, but …"

She doesn't finish. Nor does Cass, although she gets a little further:

"But won't the League …?"

"Yes. Probably." Emilia's eyes give nothing away. "Don't worry about me," she says. "Whatever happens, the important thing is that Giovanni is stopped."

Won't the League what? How was Cass planning to finish that sentence? Artemis can't be sure, but she's got an idea. She recalls her own arrest, back on Cinnabar, and imagines what it would be like if they had real proof she was working against the League. What's Lorelei's position on traitors, anyway? She always seems so cold and scary on TV.

She's telling the truth. Artemis is sure of that; it just doesn't make sense for her to lie, not like this, not in a way that Artemis can verify so easily. But truth now doesn't make up for lies earlier, even necessary ones, and though Artemis is humbled by Emilia's courage she still doesn't know how to feel about her.

She believes Artemis. There's that. Obviously she found out about her mental illness, too, and she's been treating her exactly the same regardless. (Unless she's lying, unless she's using her perfect poker face and all her League training to conceal her distrust and her loathing. But she isn't. Probably. Artemis hopes.)

"But," says Cass, and Emilia shakes her head.

"Don't worry," she repeats, more firmly. "Nadia and I can look after ourselves. And at this point, we need to attack Giovanni from every angle we have. I don't think an exposé will stop him, necessarily, but I'm hoping it will slow him down."

"Your job, though," says Artemis, the first thing she's managed to say and not at all what she wanted to, and Emilia looks at her, her eyes full of understanding. (Or judgement.)

"Artemis," she says. "I'm tired. I've done a lot of bad things, okay? I wanted to work with the League because my trainer journey helped me at a time when I really needed it, and I believed in its goodness for a long time, really, that everyone deserves that chance to escape" (that word: Emilia knows, Artemis thinks suddenly; she knows exactly what it is to have to run away, and this realisation is crippling in the horrible mixture of relief and sympathy and terror that it brings) "past the point where I should have quit, honestly, and …" She breaks off, turns her palm upward in a _what can you say?_ kind of way. "Look, at this point, it doesn't matter. I'm tired. I don't want to do this any more. I used to hang out in anarchist bookshops, and now … this."

It feels like her words have run away with her, like she has revealed more than she intended. Artemis and Cass sit there, uncomfortable, until Nadia nudges Emilia's ear and suddenly she seems to recover herself.

"The point is, I'm through," she says simply. "That's it. I don't want this job any more. Not if it's a choice between that and Giovanni. He goes down, no matter what. You know?"

Artemis thinks of sneaking out of her tent in Viridian Forest, of breaking into Cinnabar House. Of risking arrest, and then its actuality.

"Yeah," she says. "Yeah, I know."

Emilia sighs.

"I wish you didn't," she says, with feeling. "I'm sorry. This is more than you should have to deal with – either of you. That it's come to this is frankly criminal. But we're out of options at this point."

Criminal, is it. She means that, doesn't she? She believes that this should never have happened.

She lied. But.

"So what's the plan, then?" asks Artemis, with an effort. "I mean, there's Mew-2 …"

"Mew-2 is dangerous. I don't think I need to tell you this, but it bears repeating. Under no circumstances should you go anywhere near it." Emilia pauses. "I can't stop you trying, if that's what you decide. But I have to say that I don't believe you should even consider going after it."

"We can't sit here and do nothing," says Artemis. The words hang in the air, coming back to her ears as if spoken by someone else. She can hardly believe she said them. "I … _I_ can't. Cass, your aunt said they were nearly done."

"Huh? Oh yeah, yeah." Cass fidgets; Ringo darts up onto her shoulder, lithe and loyal as a terrier. "My aunt," she says. "She works with Giovanni, we think."

"Abigail Grahame," says Emilia. "Yes, I've run into her before. Twice, actually."

Cass blinks.

"Oh. Yeah, I guess we told you already, back on Cinnabar. So she called me up again earlier, and she kind of said that like she and her team had almost solved everything. Like soon they were gonna be able to stop all this for good."

Nadia glances at her partner; Emilia nods.

"Yes," she says. "Yes, I thought … Nadia ran a trace on the site of last night's attack. We thought that the entity looked like it was listening in on an earpiece, or to a telepathic message. And I brought in a reporter too, who tracked it down just outside town. He thought it was listening to something too."

It's like ice water exploding through her veins. Brauron's warmth seems suddenly a million miles away, the Pokémon Centre walls spiralling off into the void that has opened up around her. He's done it. Giovanni has control.

And if Giovanni has control, then―

"Artemis?" She turns, sees worried eyes. After a second, she fits them into a face, and recognises it as Cass. "Artemis, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she says, because it's just two words, right, and it's not so hard to get them out. "I'm fine." Breathe, Artie. Breathe.

Emilia watches. Her eyes are clouded with sympathy, and Artemis doesn't know (except she does) (except she doesn't) (except) if it's real or if it's fake.

"What will he do?" asks Artemis, and Emilia shrugs helplessly, making her partner flap her wings for balance.

"I don't know," she admits. "His organisation – it's called ROCKETS, the Research Office for the Consolidation of Kantan Economic and Technological Superiority – and the emails I've seen …" She sighs. "It's some nationalist thing. Pro-Kantan agenda of some kind."

Which is code, of course: everyone knows what a pro-Kantan agenda is. Everyone except Kantan nationalists, it seems, who think it means that they have the good of the nation in mind. There is a brief, uncomfortable pause, during which the one woman in the room who is white avoids the gaze of the two who are not, and then Artemis shakes her head.

"So I have no choice," she says. "Do I?"

Emilia waits for as long as she can before answering, but Artemis has seen the response in her eyes long before it comes.

"Abuse of power comes as no surprise," she says, half to herself. It sounds like a quotation, although Artemis doesn't know where it's from. "I'm sorry, Artemis. I'm sorry."

Artemis is sorry too, really. But penitence is only going to go so far here.

* * *

They don't get anywhere with the conversation. The three of them talk the ideas through a little longer, back and forth, back and forth; and Artemis says she won't go in search of Mew-2 and Emilia pretends to believe her, and both of them know that they are doing something unforgivable even as they know it is the only thing they can do.

When Emilia leaves to catch the train back to Saffron, Cass and Artemis look at each other, and then without saying anything they go to pack their bags. Half an hour later, they are boarding the next train west.

At least Cass is probably on her side after all. No one would come after Mew-2 with her if they didn't really mean it.

Honestly, that doesn't really make her feel that much better.

* * *

Cerulean is Cass' town; she spent half her childhood here, before Silverleaf, and after that she spent a good portion of her summers there. She knows it pretty well, has been dragged out on a bunch of family walks in the hills north of town by her parents, and she has a pretty good idea of where it is that Mew-2 might be hiding.

"There's a whole bunch of caves out there," she explains, on the maglev north to Cerulean. "Most of 'em are meant to be dangerous, y'know, wild pokémon, unstable rocks, all that jazz, but of course people still like go in anyway."

"I sense an 'except' coming here," says Artemis, which feels out of character for her as soon as she says it but what the hell, so is actively seeking out the most dangerous single creature in Kanto, and Cass nods.

"Yep," she says. "Except for one. Devil's Hollow."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, well, it doesn't have a real name, but that's kinda what kids call it. You know what it's like, right? There's this cave that no one can go in because anyone who tries gets overcome with terror, all the teenagers try to go in anyway just to see if they can, boom, you end up with a ridiculous name like that."

Artemis coughed, startled. In her lap, Brauron stirs at the sudden sound but does not wake.

"I feel like you kinda buried the lead there," says Artemis. "What the hell?"

Cass shrugs.

"Like I said, you go in, you get scared and leave again. Everyone just assumes there's a really territorial ghost-type in there, and since it never leaves, Misty at the Gym is like _okay, I guess if it doesn't bother us we won't bother it_ and hasn't had it relocated. You know? Anyway, point is, put that up against Fuji's idea that an incredibly powerful psychic-type is hanging out just north of Cerulean …"

"… and you start to see the correlations. Okay." Artemis shifts in her seat. Brauron sticks her head up out of her lap, awake and irritated about it, and Artemis' hands move automatically to her as she speaks, rubbing her head and neck and the delicate spot in between her fins. "So you know how to get there?"

"I can figure it out. I've, uh, never been." Cass looks a little embarrassed. Artemis feels for her; she herself would never go, if it weren't for this. For one thing, ghost-types and anxiety don't mix, and ghost-types and whatever it is she has _really_ don't mix; her head is sufficiently messed-up already that if something messes with it further, things could go very badly wrong. For another, she is completely bloody terrified. But it's mostly the health risks, or so she tells herself.

"It's okay," she says, wanting to put Cass at her ease. "I wouldn't have either."

"No, it's not like that." Cass' face begins to redden. "Like … I never went 'cause no one ever invited me. I don't, uh, I don't really have many friends in Cerulean. 'Cause like I only really knew people in Silverleaf."

"Oh." Right. Of course. How could Artemis forget? It's all Silverleaf, all the way down; the last eight years of Cass' life have been lived in its ornate, moneyed shadow. She hopes that Cass did at least have friends there. She _suspects_ that she didn't, but she hopes that she did.

"So yeah. No one in town to dare me to go into Devil's Hollow." Cass shrugs. "'S okay," she says. "I never particularly wanted to, anyway."

She is a very bright red now. Both of them choose to ignore it.

"Okay," says Artemis. Cass isn't telling her everything; she said before that she spent her last few weeks in Cerulean staying with a friend while she waited for the League paperwork to come through. That's at least one person she was reasonably close to in town. But fine: Cass owes her no answers. She'll tell Artemis about this if and when she's ready. "That's okay," Artemis repeats, and then hesitates. "Are you … are you okay going back to Cerulean so soon? I mean, um, I mean I'm not sure I'd want to go back to Pewter."

Cass shrugs again. It isn't any more convincingly nonchalant than the last time. On the back of the seat next to her, Ringo chirps and hops closer, eyeing her closely. Artemis doesn't know if birds can be worried, or what it looks like if they can, but if she had to make a guess she'd say this was it.

"Dunno, Artemis. I … like I'd be lying if I said I really wanted to be there, but you know. I'll manage."

"I promise we won't be long," says Artemis, hoping that she sounds as sincere as she feels. "Just speak to Mew-2 and be out of there."

Cass smiles, touched and a little embarrassed by her earnestness.

"Thanks," she says. "Really, though, I'll be okay. Might even get the chance to visit like the one friend I do have there."

"All right," says Artemis. "Just making sure."

"I know. You're super sweet."

Artemis blushes, squirming a little as the compliment hits her.

"Thanks," she mumbles, feeling clumsy and inelegant. "I was just making sure."

"Well," says Cass. "Still. You know."

Artemis does know, even if she's not any better at articulating it than Cass, and so she says okay, and as the train speeds through the city outskirts to its centre the two of them settle into a quiet kind of calm.

Cerulean is small, as cities go. Compact, bright, cheerful; it's a world away from the concrete moonscape of Viridian or the dingy sprawl of Pewter. The city centre is full of all the usual Kantan chains, Moon's, Oleander, a Silph outlet, a Hungry Knight, but they are all housed in what Artemis thinks of as upmarket kind of buildings, nineteenth-century windows looking out from the upper floors at the glass shopfronts below. She kind of likes it. A reassuring mixture of the cheap and the classy, neither as grindingly poor as parts of Pewter nor as intimidatingly wealthy as parts of Viridian.

Still, she's nervous. By this evening, she will either be dead or have a new ally of horrifying strength and savagery, and frankly she isn't sure which is worse – _and_ that thing is still running around in Lavender. She wonders if she should have stayed, if the police will want to speak to her again and be angry at her absence. For half an hour or so, she sees pursuing cops everywhere, in pedestrians walking a little too fast and shadows that look a little too dense, and then they arrive at the Pokémon Centre and she manages to calm herself in the now-familiar ritual of checking in. The thought does strike her that the Lavender police might have asked the staff of the Centre there to to contact their counterparts here, that at any moment the receptionist might ask her to wait here for the police to come and collect her (and then, dizzying, breath-stealing: an interrogation, tears, hallucination, no Emilia this time to save her), but she just about manages to keep it under control. No one's coming for you, Artie, she tells herself. It would be a huge waste of resources when they're already so busy. What's more likely: that the receptionist is looking at an email from Lavender, or she's just seeing what rooms are available? There are _always_ other explanations. There really really are.

"Sorry," says the receptionist, looking away from her computer and back at Artemis. "It's summer, so you know. Busy time. Are you okay to share a twin room?"

Artemis smiles. Nobody but her can tell how difficult she finds this, she reminds herself.

"Yeah," she says. "That's fine."

They dump their stuff, plug their phones in to charge, and go down to the computer room to, as Cass puts it, Google Maps this shit up. There's a quiet kid in there whose chansey Ringo immediately singles out as a worthy opponent, and he begins to fly in circles around it, shrieking his head off; the chansey stares, the kid looks on the verge of tears, and then Cass yells at Ringo to cut it out and he flaps back over to her shoulder, looking entirely unapologetic.

"Sorry," she says on his behalf. "He's, uh, well, I think I need to exercise him after this. Tire him out a bit."

"I-it's okay," stammers the kid, and turns resolutely back to the computer, ears red. Cass looks at Artemis, makes an exaggeratedly guilty face.

"Oops," she whispers. "Hey birdbrain, why can't you be more like Brauron? Look at her. _She_ doesn't go round trying to murder people."

On her usual perch below Artemis' clavicle, Brauron licks her eyes in what is possibly, for a salandit, a regal kind of way. Ringo squawks and nips at Cass' ear; she sighs, calls him a birdbrain again, and gives him his toy kabuto to shut him up. While he busies himself throwing it on the floor so he can divebomb it like he's hunting caterpie, Artemis logs on to one of the PCs and navigates to Google Maps.

"Okay," says Cass, resolutely ignoring whatever it is that Ringo is doing at her feet. "So – this is Gadaran National Park, biggest in the riding, right, and like the trails are here and here." She wiggles the cursor around two lines amidst the sea of green. "Gadaran cave network goes all the way through the hills. This is – oh cool, that one's labelled, that's Big Cave―"

"Big Cave?" asks Artemis.

"We're not very imaginative in Cerulean," replies Cass. "You wanna hear a good Cerulean joke about it?"

"Um, okay, sure."

"Sorry, nobody's thought of one yet." Cass pauses, then smiles at Artemis' lack of a reaction. "See what I mean? Whole city full of people and _that's_ the best we could come up with. Anyway, that's Big Cave, which means I think that that there is Little Cave, so … I guess we take that trail there on the right?"

"All right," says Artemis. "You're the one who lives here."

There is a pause, during which they both try to think of something else they can do in order to avoid immediately heading out to Devil's Hollow, and then Cass sighs.

"You, um … wanna get lunch first?" she asks hopefully.

"Yeah," says Artemis. "Let's do that."

* * *

An hour later, they're out of excuses and walking up the road from the bus stop to the national park. Neither of them feel much like speaking, although Ringo at least is delighted to be on the move again; he flies on ahead, flitting from wall to sign to branch as the road wends its way out of town and through a copse up to the car park.

"Someone's happy," says Artemis, as he loses steam and crashes down atop a speed limit sign. It's the first thing she's said since they got on the bus out of town.

"Yep," replies Cass, though even she doesn't sound as cheery as usual. "He really needed to let off steam, I guess. Haven't done any training since – actually since before that storm. Wow. Okay, yeah, that explains it."

Artemis and Brauron haven't done any either, although Brauron has not displayed any of Ringo's antsiness; Artemis gets the impression that she is, more than anything, worried about her partner. Certainly she's spent a lot of time insinuating herself between Artemis' fingers and coiling around her hands, hissing and emitting occasional bursts of sweet scent even when not ordered to do so. Artemis is touched, and guilty. Her weakness is poisonous, she knows, an insidiously manipulative vulnerability that forces those who care about her to waste time and effort in making her feel better. All Brauron's attention proves is that Artemis has suckered another poor soul into slaking her endless thirst for reassurance.

Or, you know, that Brauron really cares and that Artemis is succeeding as a trainer. One of the two, for sure. Artemis is finding it a bit hard to decide which one exactly.

"I guess it makes sense," she says. "We've had other stuff on our minds."

Cass snorts.

"Hah. Yeah, we really kinda have."

They turn off the road, cross a mostly empty car park, and emerge on the other side into a sparse, open wood of silver birches. The ground here slopes, and Artemis can see the hills beyond the trees, rising and falling all the way to Mt Moon.

"Path forks up there," says Cass, pointing ahead. "It's the right, I think? That'll take us round to the northeast, where the caves are. The other way sort of loops around towards Route 4."

Artemis nods. They walk on for a while without speaking, the only sound the clatter of Ringo's wings as he crashes inelegantly from perch to perch.

"Peaceful, huh," says Artemis.

"Yeah," replies Cass. "Weird, though. Haven't been here for a long time."

Artemis glances at her out of the corner of her eye. She looks on edge, and Artemis doesn't think it's just the prospect of meeting Mew-2 that's doing it.

"You used to come with your parents?" she asks.

"Yeah, and my little brother. Family walks. I dunno, we're not a very walky kinda family." Cass shrugs. "Guess my parents wanted to do something as a family and couldn't think of anything else. There's that Cerulean lack of imagination for you."

"You don't sound thrilled," says Artemis, mostly just to let Cass know that if she wants to talk about this Artemis is happy to listen and do her clumsy best at being supportive, and Cass laughs. It is not the kind of laugh that gives the impression that Cass finds anything very funny.

"Yeah, well, I'm not massively into family time. My parents named me after a prophet nobody believed who also got raped, enslaved and murdered with an axe, and then honestly I think things just went downhill from there."

"Yeah," says Artemis, falteringly. "You, um … you said."

A short pause. Ringo crashes through the trees up ahead; Brauron stretches and relocates from Artemis' chest to her shoulder.

"And like Silverleaf was their idea," Cass continues suddenly, unprompted. She's looking dead ahead now, face expressionless. "They said I was smart and I should try, and then I got the scholarship and they were like that's so good, well _done,_ sweetie, and then I went there and hated it and they ignored me for like seven years till I came home with my crappy results and they decided to fight about it and then―" She breaks off suddenly, wavering, and for a moment Artemis wonders if that's it – but then she presses on. "And like I didn't know what to say, 'cause I wasn't used to them taking any interest, and – and they got mad that I cut my hair short and dyed it, because I guess their idea of Cassandra Grahame wasn't _this_ , was someone smarter, I mean in terms of appearance, and … and …"

A longer pause this time. Artemis can sense the unspoken words, whatever they are, boiling viciously beneath the surface of her reddening cheeks. And then Cass swallows and stops walking and says it.

"And not like me," she says. "Not someone who got the special scholarship to the best school in Kanto and came back with a shitty results card and a girlfriend."

So that's it. Artemis sees how it was. Something like her own story, except that Cass actually had the nerve to tell her parents about herself, to face that confrontation head-on. Or maybe that wasn't it; maybe there were rumours at school, maybe Cass' parents got called up about their daughter's behaviour and so in their heads her atypical affections were simply part of her failure as a student.

Or maybe her parents are just not nice about that kind of thing. God knows they wouldn't be the only ones.

"I'm sorry," says Artemis, after a few seconds. "I … that sucks. My parents would kill me if they knew about me."

She hopes this comes across as _here's why I understand_ rather than _I have it worse_. She has a horrible feeling that it doesn't, but it's said now, and there's no taking it back.

"I guess you know, then," says Cass, and Artemis lets out the breath she has been holding. "Yeah. I wanted to say, 'cause … well, 'cause I figured you'd understand. And you told me all your stuff, so― and like 'cause it's … it's been so fucking bad going around carrying this with me. I just … I don't even know if I can go home again."

She sounds close to tears. Ringo drifts back to her shoulder from up the trail, tugs on her ear with his beak. Artemis wonders if she should do something, then wonders if wondering about it instead of doing it makes her a bad person, then tells herself screw it, Cass is hurting and you're meant to be her friend, and steps closer to put an arm around her. Cass tenses for a moment, surprised, but she does not pull away, and after a moment she relaxes and leans in against her side.

"I'm sorry," says Artemis awkwardly. "You probably didn't want to come back here."

Cass shrugs, and for once Ringo doesn't seem to care. She doesn't say anything. Artemis suspects that she doesn't trust her voice.

"Was it your girlfriend you stayed with before you left?" A little nod, half buried in Artemis' ribs. Cass feels so small, pressed up against her like that. "Maybe you can visit her before we go. If you want to."

Smile. Small, strained, but a smile.

"Yeah," says Cass quietly. "Maybe." She sniffs and pulls back, wiping her eyes quickly with the heel of her hand. "Christ. Ugh. Sorry. About all this. This is like the climax of your heroic journey to stop the secret government conspiracy and save Kanto, and here I am derailing things with my shit―"

"Cass." Artemis catches her eye, and she stops speaking. "Cass, it's okay. It's still important."

"Compared to like eldritch nasties smashing through the fabric of reality? I dunno, I think―"

"Cass. I mean it. It … it hurt you, right? So it matters."

Cass blinks. Artemis can see the revelation dawning, the way it did on her, way back in that one therapy session. That what happens to you really matters, no matter how small it seems in the grand scheme of things. Because guess what, you _aren't_ the grand scheme of things, you're just one person, and your life might be small but it's all you've got, and if it's not working out for you then you can't afford not to do something about it.

Probably Cass won't believe it yet. That's okay. It usually takes a while.

"Yeah, maybe," she says. "Thanks, Artemis. I … like I said. You're cool. I hope you know that."

Artemis blushes, but manages to not look away, to keep offering Cass a friendly face to see.

"I dunno," she says. "I'm trying to. But you're pretty cool too." She'd like to say that she doesn't think she would have got this far without her, but somehow she can't quite manage that.

Cass smiles weakly.

"Thanks," she says. "I do my best." A sigh. "Kinda funny, really. I go to school at the other end of the country and still end up meeting a girl from my hometown."

"Maybe it's that Cerulean lack of imagination again," suggests Artemis, and is amazed to see Cass actually laugh.

"Yeah," she agrees. "That's probably it." Ringo tugs on her ear again, and she reaches up to stroke him with one hand. "You're cool too, birdbrain," she says. "Dunno what you see in me, 'cept maybe a source of free mealworms, but I'm glad you stuck around." She breathes out, and looks back up the trail, towards the top of the hill. "Okay," she says. "Okay, let's forget about what we do after this for a while. We got time, right? Assuming we don't, y'know, get killed by Mew-2 or anything. So. Time to go?"

Artemis smiles.

"Time to go," she says. "And, uh, Cass?"

"Yeah?"

"My friends, or friend, I guess, they – she – I mean, people call me Artie. You can too. If you like."

"Okay, Artie," says Cass, kindly ignoring how pathetic that sounded. "Let's go talk to a big old psychic monster."

"Let's go do that," agrees Artemis, and they walk together up the trail, out from the forest into the sunlight on the hill.

* * *

It's a long way back home, even if you go by car. Emilia isn't, and that makes it even longer, several long hours on a train snaking through the hills towards the capital, and then a further half hour through the subway to get back to her apartment. She could have taken a cab, but after last night, she sort of feels she should ease up on the spending for a while. That was expensive, even coming from her salary.

By the time she sets foot in her apartment, it's almost twelve, and she is suddenly aware of how tired she is, how little sleep she got and how much travelling she did last night. She hovers in the doorway for a moment, stupefied with fatigue and unable to decide what she should be doing, and then Nadia nudges the edge of her mind and the moment is over.

"Yeah," says Emilia, yawning. "Right."

She kicks off her shoes and goes into the kitchen to get herself a glass of water; she hasn't had anything to eat or drink since last night except that coffee in Lavender. The first half she gulps, and the second she takes slower, letting the cold water take the edge off her fatigue and sharpen up the senses dulled by the boredom of the train ride. Leaving the glass on the counter, she goes back to the living-room to find the documents she promised Mark, and stops dead.

Effie.

How could she have forgotten? She didn't even say goodbye when she left last night. She just walked out, her head full of breach and Giovanni, and left her partner, her oldest friend, wthout even a single word to say where she was―

 _BUSY_ , says Nadia, by which she means that Emilia was as always compartmentalising, was simply shutting out that which would have stopped her doing her job properly, but Emilia doesn't want to hear it. The why of things isn't the point. What matters is that she still bloody did it.

"Effie," she murmurs, kneeling by the plant pot, bending over the fat, ripening fruit. "Effie, sweetie, I'm so …"

In the wild, gloom gravitate towards leafstone deposits, old rock formed of crystallised energy from the bodies of long-dead grass-types. The radiation from the stone triggers their evolution – that final push, over the course of a month, into their mature form. Leafstone is mined in controlled quantities, little nuggets of it passed around from trainer to trainer to evolve their pokémon until its energy fades. Emilia, however, never got her hands on any; this just isn't how it worked out with Effie. She evolved four days before Emilia's sixteenth birthday, in that uneasy time after Emilia had come home from her journey, taller and tougher than she had been when she left, making things strange and different.

But not so different, really. Because she'd been in that house years and years, and while she had escaped for a little while coming back to it once more brought everything back, crushed all the strength that had been growing in her back down to its roots. The walls closed in, heavy with her parents' presence, and in just a few days Emilia was as small and meek and scared as she had been before she left, driven to hide quietly in her room or stay out of the house, to be polite and deferential and hopelessly, sickeningly afraid when it was time to eat and she had to sit there with her parents; and things were the same as ever, and they could never be different, she knew, it had been ridiculous to ever even dream that they could be otherwise; and she kept Effie hidden up in her room, afraid of what might happen if she ever saw Emilia interacting with her parents and decided in her simple vegetable way that she should intervene; and then one day her father followed her up there, still angry, and he raised his hand in the old familiar gesture and Emilia closed her eyes like always and with a sound like a forest exploding there she was, Effie, a vileplume, her huge toxic flower spread like a shield against the blow.

Her father told the doctors that he'd spilled some herbicide on his hand, and he never spoke a single word to Emilia ever again.

That was Effie. That was what she was, her uncomplicated animal-vegetable love and her fierce, deathless loyalty. Emilia had to take her to the Pokémon Centre after that for treatment; vileplume aren't meant to snap-evolve like that. It's how it works for some pokémon, but not for them. She had to be kept in overnight while they blasted her with a sun lamp and infused her with some special medicine through her roots, and Emilia stayed too. Partly because she was afraid to go home without her, but also partly because she was awed at the love on display. Effie hurt herself doing that, but she did it anyway. For Emilia. For her bruised, cowardly little partner.

And Emilia didn't say goodbye before she left.

"Effie," she says again. "I'm sorry."

No response. Of course. Just a wrinkled stem and a bright, mottled fruit.

It's time. It really is. If she's going to save anything of Effie, if she's going to take this fruit before it becomes overripe and goes bad, she has to do it soon. All the literature says so. That book, and Wikipedia, and the oddish enthusiast forums she stumbled across while searching for anything that would give her permission to put it off just a few days longer.

It's time. She has a bag of compost, some little flowerpots, even a trowel. She's never owned a trowel in her life but she has one now. It's time.

Emilia swallows, gives Effie a kiss, and retreats to go and dig out the files to copy them for Mark.

At least she's not the callous monster she was afraid she was, but right now she finds it sort of difficult to take much comfort from that.

* * *

Devil's Hollow is some way off the trail, down by the north bank of the Cere, the river that curls around Cerulean's north edge and eastwards up to the sea. Cass points it out from the bridge that takes them out of the woods and over the water into the hills.

"There it is," she says. "Scariest place in Kanto."

Artemis stares. It doesn't look like the home of a hybrid breach pokémon. Then again, what would that even look like, anyway?

"Shouldn't there be, like … a sign or something? Maybe a locked gate?"

"There _is_ a sign," says Cass. "It's … somewhere. Maybe behind that rock, from this angle."

"But no barrier?"

"Nope. No barrier." Cass glances at her. "Kind of a good thing really. We do want to go in, after all."

"Yeah, I know. I just – I mean, you know."

Cass gives her a strained kind of smile.

"Yeah," she says. "I know."

From the other side of the bridge, where they turn off the trail to descend the slope down to the cave, the sign is clearly visible. DANGER, it warns. POWERFUL GHOST AHEAD. There's an emergency phone number for Cerulean Gym ("Who you gonna call?" asks Cass wryly) and an explanation in smaller type that a strong and very territorial ghost-type lives here, and is best not disturbed.

They stand there for a moment, looking at the sign, and then Artemis puts one hand on Brauron and Cass calls Ringo back to her shoulder, and they go down to the riverbank and enter Devil's Hollow.

It's dark here – very dark. The sun is bright today, but all the light does is make the dark darker by contrast, and standing there at the entrance Artemis and Cass both stop to switch on their torches.

"Diving into a cave in search of a rare pokémon," says Cass. "Checking off the trainer journey clichés, huh?"

Artemis doesn't answer. She'd like to – Cass is making an effort to break the tension and she'd like to encourage it – but somehow she can't. It's all right; Ringo has just realised that they actually intend to enter the cave, and Cass' attention is diverted to him as he squawks uneasily and huddles close against her head.

"I know," she says, stroking him. "I know, Ringo. I know."

Artemis keeps her free hand on Brauron. She isn't sure, at this point, if she can take it away again.

"Okay," says Cass, as Ringo settles down. "I think he's okay. But I might recall him anyway. When he gets scared he flies off, and I don't want him to like get lost when the fear hits."

Artemis still says nothing, though this time for other reasons; she knows enough to recognise when someone's talking for their own benefit, not that of the person with them. She waits while Cass returns Ringo to his ball, and points her torch ahead, into the dark.

"You ready?" she asks, reaching for her voice and finding it again.

"Um, hell no," says Cass. "But I guess we don't have much of a choice."

She makes Artemis smile despite herself. It's a gift, thinks Artemis; whatever Cass' failings as a student, she is a very talented human being. This is something she would like to tell her, but honestly she wouldn't even know where to start.

"Okay," she says instead. "Let's go, then."

They walk. In the narrow passage of the cave, the torchlight picks out rocks, walls, nothing of interest.

Six paces in, it hits.

It's bad. Artemis knows fear well, is something of a connoisseur of it, even, has tasted it in forms from mindless panic to the numbing terror of life in the twilight of the fossil fuel era; she knows fear, and she knows bad when she feels it. And this is it: throat-clogging, breath-stealing, gut-wrenching; it's ghost people, breach, the blurred man and the spire. She feels ice-cold, nauseous and shivery and on the verge of passing out – but she doesn't, can't, because it's just fear, Artie, and you've done this so many times before, have survived every encounter and walked away with nothing more than arm scars at the very worst; she's done it before and she can do it again, can reach past the panic and Brauron scratching desperately at her chest and call out:

"What's your name?"

And it's over. Just like that. The fear fades as quickly as it came, and Cass lets go of Artemis' arm with a sheepish look on her face.

"Sorry," she mumbles, but Artemis isn't listening: there's another voice there, deep and dark as a well in midwinter:

 _You didn't run_.

Cultured. Sexless. It hangs in her mind like icicles off the underside of the railway bridge in winter, before the trains shake them loose and send them stabbing at the frozen earth below. An intelligent voice, and a dangerous one.

"No," Artemis manages to croak. "We didn't."

 _Strong!_ The voice sounds approving. _Strong enough not to run, and to keep your friend from running too. That is strength indeed._

"I've had a lot of practice at being scared," says Artemis. "And anyway, we want to speak to you."

While she talks, she hugs Brauron close, ostensibly to comfort her after the fear, but of course Brauron is not the only one who needs comforting.

 _Do you now._ It is not inflected as a question. _You asked my name. This suggests to me that you already know it._

"No, we know what they called you," says Artemis. "But like … we both, all of us here, we know that what they call you isn't always who you are." She takes a breath. This was as much of a plan as she could come up with, and now she'll know if her hunch was right, if Mew-2 really is close enough to human for her to understand. "So," she says. "What we'd like to know is your name."

Silence. For the longest time. Long enough for Artemis to feel the cold sweat of her panic congealing on her brow, for Brauron to retreat nervously into the depths of her arms, for Cass to shrink visibly against the cave wall.

Somewhere very far away, water drips.

And then:

 _You are serious_ , says the voice. _Well. There is strength too in wisdom. And you have the savour of the self-created about you. I will tell you that when you professed a desire to talk, you had my attention. Now you have my interest._ A pause. Artemis isn't sure whether she's meant to say something or not. _Very well, human. You may come and learn my name. Or you may leave._

They say it in such a way as leaves no doubt that this is an either/or kind of deal: if they go in, there is no guarantee that Mew-2 will let them out again. Frightening – but honestly, what _isn't_ , at this point? And anyway, Artemis gets it, kind of. She hasn't enjoyed being part of Giovanni's breach experiments any more than Mew-2 has.

A look at Cass. A shared nod.

"Okay," says Artemis, not knowing why she is their spokeswoman but feeling, somehow, that it is right. "We're coming."

 _I will look forward to it_.

A sense of something withdrawing, and then at last Artemis knows they are alone.

Cass breathes out.

"Ohhhmygod," she mutters. "I mean, _fuck_." She looks at Artemis. "Sorry. I mean about grabbing you. I just – that was intense."

"It's okay," says Artemis. "It _was_ pretty bad."

"Yeah. Is that what a panic attack is like?"

"Kind of. Sometimes." Artemis does not comment on the fact that Cass is assuming she has experience of panic attacks. She _does_ have that experience, but she'd prefer it if Cass didn't assume. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Think so." Cass swears again, then tosses Ringo's ball up in the air and releases him, the flash blinding in the dark. He settles onto her shoulder, entirely unperturbed. "Heya, buster," she says, rubbing a knuckle along his neck. "You dodged a bullet there. We wouldn't ever have found you again if you'd been around to feel what we just felt."

Squawk, he goes, in a fearless sort of way, and Cass smiles.

"Sure," she says. "Like you'd have stayed. Okay, Artie. Ready to go meet our host?"

"Nope," replies Artemis. "Let's go."

* * *

The cave is not Artemis' idea of a good time. It goes back a long way, getting narrower and darker, twisting back on itself in tight, claustrophobic knots. The further in they go, the more Artemis is aware that she is standing in a thin finger of air in the midst of all that stone, so much of it she thinks she can almost hear it creaking under the strain of its own weight, the pillars of rock and the jagged walls forever on the verge of collapsing inwards. Like being in a bubble underwater and trusting it won't burst. Except, of course, Artemis is no good at trusting anyone or anything, really, and she cannot make herself think that this bubble is not about to be crushed.

Brauron seems okay, clinging motionless to her chest, but Cass and Ringo both seem uneasy too, and Artemis takes a selfish sort of comfort in this. It's not just her, then. She's not being unreasonable and it's okay to be afraid.

(Or, comes the answering thought with chilling certainty and sideways logic, it's okay for them but not for you, because they have so much strength between them and you are a helpless piece of dead weight hanging on their backs, being carried by a salandit whose expertise covers for your own hopeless inadequacy.)

Artemis swallows, and presses on.

They see no wild pokémon. Ordinarily there would be zubat in a place like this, and geodude and possibly a small clan of pale, wiry cave machop, but there's nothing, no life here at all. Everything knows to stay away. Everything except Artemis.

She tries not to think about this, but even if she had that kind of willpower, she doubts she'd get very far. This is the kind of place that inspires regrets.

After a while, Cass speaks.

"Long way," she whispers, subdued. "Sorry, didn't mean to make you jump. Just, like, did we miss a turning, or …?"

"Dunno," says Artemis, hoping her voice can actually be heard over the frantic pounding of her heart. "Don't think so."

"Okay," says Cass. "Okay, I guess we keep going."

"Yeah," says Artemis. "I guess."

Not long afterwards, they see a different shade of darkness up ahead, a dark that doesn't resolve into a wall when they shine their torches on it, and, with a brief look in each other's direction, they step through into what they can feel is a much bigger space. The air is different, slightly colder and less still, and while their torch beams can't seem to find the far wall they do pick out pieces of junk piled around them on the floor: bit of car and bikes, a small boat, engine blocks, smashed furniture, bones. (They don't look human, but.)

"Do … do you think this is it?" asks Artemis nervously, flicking her torch back and forth, looking for something living among the piles of refuse. "I mean, someone put all this here …"

"I dunno," says Cass. "I guess we―"

Snarl of a motor, and then with a harsh clunk a floodlight hidden behind a pile of lawn furniture turns on, blindingly bright; Artemis throws up a hand to shield her eyes, wincing in pain, and just as quickly takes it away again, too afraid to look away. Squinting through the glare, she looks down the cavern to its other end, where the floodlight is pointed – and sees it.

Throne of mangled steel. Dead cow hanging from a hook. And, in front of both – Mew-2.

Tall, lithe, brawny; they are something like the pictures of mew Artemis looked up online, like an embryonic cat, but taller and tougher, built with the wiry strength of a human, muscles shifting beneath dull grey skin. They stand upright on two legs, thick tail waving slowly behind them, and on their horned brow they wear a crown of iron barbs.

This would be intimidating enough, but Artemis cannot help but notice that they also hold in one three-fingered hand what looks like it was once a stop sign, but which now has been cut and sharpened until the only word that really fits is _battleaxe_.

 _You stand where none have stood before_ , they say, their face motionless but their voice darkening Artemis' head like the wings of a thunderstorm against the sky. _I am Sovereign, synthetic monarch._

Long pause. Even from forty feet away, Mew-2 – Sovereign – feels dangerous. Artemis has no doubt that if they wanted her dead, they could cross the space between them and make her so in less time than it would take to blink.

"Um," she says. They're not attacking, Artie. They're here to talk. Right? Right. "Hi. I'm … I'm Artemis. And this is Brauron."

Sss, says Brauron, glaring. Artemis is amazed. She has no idea how it is that Brauron isn't scared out of her wits.

"And, uh, we're Cass and Ringo," says Cass. "I'm the first part."

 _Artemis, Brauron, Cass, Ringo._ Sovereign tilts their head slightly to one side. They have two necks, Artemis realises: one that supports their head, and another running like a cable from between their shoulder blades to the back of their skull. Something about the gap between the two makes her skin crawl. Living creatures aren't meant to have holes in them. _Well. What is it that you want with me?_

This is it, then. The moment when she has to explain herself.

Okay.

"It's Giovanni Dioli," she says, and sees Sovereign's fingers tighten on the handle of their axe. "He's … he's doing something bad. Triggering breach events. And there are more and more of them, and I think he might have almost figured out how to control them, and―"

 _You would use me as he would have done_ , says Sovereign. _A weapon against the breach_.

"No!" cries Artemis. "No, I – I know what he did, what he's trying to – I mean, he's trying to use me too. I, I'm not … the kind of person who can do that to someone. I'm asking for alliance, not … not servitude …"

She trails off in the face of Sovereign's overwhelming silence. They maintain it for a moment longer before they reply.

 _What would you know?_ they ask coldly. _You are free._

Is she? For one long, dizzying second Artemis almost thinks she is, that this is all in her head, that nobody has irradiated her or arranged her life or ground down her will with quiet condescension until she has no more space for dreams left in her; that there is nothing wrong and she isn't a girl and she isn't even here, she's a shade camped out in the husk of a body that belongs to Giovanni, parents, ghost people, League, law, cops with eyes like broken glass and fingers like the leathery tails of subway rats. It boils in her, the old fear, foaming over into dissolution, turning her to ash in her borrowed skin―

Sss.

Brauron is here, climbing up and around her neck like a scarf of living flame, and her touch brings her back. Her name is Artemis Apanchomene. Her injuries are real. Sometimes she imagines that people are trying to hunt her down and kill her but the shackles on her exist as solidly as if they were steel and not ideology.

She touches Brauron briefly with her fingers, scratches gently at her tiny neck, and imagines that the warmth she feels flowing through her is life, resurrecting her like the breath of Ho-oh.

"Can you read minds?" she asks.

 _Yes. If I must. I consider it distasteful_.

"Read mine," she says. "Read mine and tell me what I know."

Another of those silences. It's still scary, of course, but Artemis can see through it now. Sovereign is uneasy; they're not used to people finding their way here, let alone people who know about Giovanni's breach project. They aren't sure if they want to kill her or not, and they don't like it, of course, because they are obsessed with strength and this to them can't feel like a position of strength at all. So they're trying to intimidate her. And all right, it's working, but she understands, and that helps.

 _Very well_ , says Sovereign, after a moment. _Approach me_.

"Wait," says Cass, alarmed. "Are, uh, are you sure about this?"

No, thinks Artemis.

"Yes," she says. "I've, um, I have a plan."

She counts to three, and on two she starts walking so that she can't chicken out, down between the piles of junk, towards where Sovereign waits. They're taller than her, she realises as she gets closer. By about half a foot. It feels weird. Kantans tend towards shortness; ordinarily, Artemis is the tallest person in the room. But then, nothing is ordinary about this particular encounter.

Closer. Past some battered circuit breakers, a coil of barbed wire (and an unpleasant memory), a smashed rowing boat with rotten oars. Closer, Sovereign growing clearer, the slitted pupils of their colourless eyes now clearly visible. Closer. And closer. And then―

There.

Sovereign looks down at her, just a few feet away. There are scars on their brow, where the jags and points of their barbed crown have cut into their skin. Something about this feels unbearably sad.

 _Ready yourself_ , they say, and without further preamble reach out with their free hand to grasp her skull. Artemis tenses up―

― _leukaemia university Dad engineer functional psych ward Yellowbrick Giovanni spire radiation breach breach breach breach breach breach_ ―

Sovereign pulls away, and Artemis stumbles back, gasping. For a long moment, she thinks she might be dead, and then she remembers that usually when she thinks that it isn't true and finds her way back into herself. Sovereign doesn't look any better; they reel, shaking their head as if to dislodge the memories they have shared in, and a strange yarring sound like the cry of a fighting cat bursts involuntarily from their lips. The two of them stare at each other for a moment, each fighting their own inner panic, and then, quite suddenly, it's over.

 _You have known cages_ , Sovereign says, avoiding her eye. Blood trickles down their forehead, from where their crown cut into them as they shook their head. _Your mind is … alarming._

Perhaps it's the remnants of the psychic link, but Artemis can just about detect a hint of the emotions beneath their words, consternation roiling in their skull. She's surprised, but then, she's spent nearly twenty years living with her brain now; maybe she's just used to the weirdness.

"I know," she says.

A silence. Sovereign recovers their composure and watches her for a long moment, ignoring the blood running into their eyes.

 _Very well_ , they say at length. _And you?_

"Me?" asks Cass, startled. "Uh, what about me?"

 _What are you?_

"What am …? Oh. You mean like … like that." She hesitates. Artemis turns and catches her eye, trying to look encouraging. Cass' mouth pulls up at one corner into a transitory smile. "I guess – I guess I'm here because Artemis is," she says, after a moment. "I dunno about cages or whatever, nobody's ever tried to experiment on me, but …" She shrugs. Ringo seems to forget to object; he just stares at Sovereign, wide-eyed and rigid. "It's the right thing to do," Cass says. "And I kinda owe Artemis a bunch anyway."

 _It's the right thing to do_ , repeats Sovereign. _And you – you're serious, aren't you?_

"Uh … yes?" Cass looks uneasy. "Is that a trick question? I feel like that's a trick question."

They don't answer. For a moment, they say nothing at all, and then they turn and take several long steps back towards their throne of junk.

 _Very well_ , they say, facing them once again. _Fight me_.

Artemis blinks.

"What?"

 _Fight me_. Sovereign's eyes are unreadable, like chips of lifeless quartz. _You are trainers. I am a pokémon. Fight me_.

"We're asking for your help …"

 _Then earn it_ , says Sovereign. _Fight me_. They kick gently against the ground and float into the air, legs dangling, the air around them blue and rippling with the vast strength of their psionics. _Now_.

"But," says Artemis, meaning to say that this isn't the time, that they're beyond the point where pokémon training has any relevance, that if they don't stop Giovanni soon something unspecific but undoubtedly terrible will happen; Sovereign raises a hand and silences her with a look.

 _Now_ , they repeat, and punctuate it with a sharp, downward swing of their axe. Artemis flinches, all too aware of the impact of sharp objects on flesh, and takes a step back – but suddenly Cass is there, not touching but there, a comforting presence at her side, ordering Ringo down into the space between them and Sovereign.

"Okay, dude," she says, as Ringo flares his wings and screeches. "You wanna do this, we'll show you what we got." She looks up at Artemis, eyes bright and hard. "C'mon," she says. "Listen, we're like twice as old as he is. We have _totally_ got this."

 _They_ , says Sovereign, tonelessly. _And we shall see_.

Artemis looks from them to Cass and back again. She breathes in, and out, and holds up her hand for Brauron to climb onto.

"Okay," she says, chest tight but voice just about still working. "Okay, Sovereign. Let's do this."

She bends down and lets Brauron down on the cave floor, next to Ringo. She glances at him for a moment, then hisses and flares her fins – actually flares her fins at _Sovereign_ , at Mew-2, at a legendary pokémon hovering before her like an angel of death. Artemis doesn't know how she does it.

Sovereign looks down at her – at both of them, the two tiny little creatures whose eyes are barely level with their floating feet – and bares their teeth in something that might as easily be a grin as a snarl.

 _Ready_ , they say. And: _Begin_.


	18. 12: Interview

**12: INTERVIEW**

On the way to Northcote Street, in the cab, Emilia runs over her material in her head, sifting through the documents in her lap while Nadia keys each one to a set of thoughts. It only takes a few minutes to clothe the bones with flesh, to build a story out of all these bits of paper, and after she's run over it twice there's nothing left to do but sit there in the traffic and worry.

What if the editor won't take this? It's not like it will cripple ROCKETS all by itself, but it's the only plan Emilia has, and it will at least force some kind of response from Giovanni. He can give the League investigators the slip all he wants, but it won't matter if the whole country's against him. Government lives and dies on the back of public opinion, and the League is no different; just because it's older than Parliament doesn't mean people trust it any further. If enough people believe that Giovanni's up to no good, then the League _has_ to respond somehow, no matter what the internal review team found. Maybe it won't stop him, but it should, at least, annoy him.

There is of course the question of whether or not annoying him is a good idea. Emilia is acutely aware that she doesn't have much support left at this point. Refusing to return Lorelei's calls is petty and has probably alienated her from whatever remaining allies she might have had at the League; that leaves Mark and Artemis, and frankly neither of them are going to be able to shield her from whatever Giovanni decides to do when he sees her name attached to a damning exposé in this evening's _Cataphract_.

 _ARTEMIS_ , says Nadia, by which she means _speaking of her …_ , and Emilia sighs. Yes. She needs to check in with her. There's probably time now, she reflects, and tries to call her up, but the line can't seem to connect. She hopes this is because she's out of signal range, and not because she's dead.

Christ. Why did she let her go like that? She _knew_ what Artemis was planning. She should have … she couldn't have stopped her. Artemis knows the risks, and she knows the stakes, and she's old enough to make this decision for herself. And god knows that if there's anyone in the world who actually has a shot at winning the damn thing over, it's probably her.

Emilia clicks her phone screen on and off, on and off. It's not like she has the right to stop her, anyway. But there are a lot of dead trans women out there, a lot of dead women of colour, and Emilia is desperately afraid that Artemis might by this point number among them. And what about Cass? She'll follow Artemis anywhere; Emilia saw it in her eyes. Maybe it's guilt at having spied on her, maybe she just believes, but she'll follow her to Mew-2 and she'll die there, too. And with them will go Ringo and Brauron, two more lives that Emilia should have saved.

On and off, on and off. She fiddles with her phone and does not manage to dispel her thoughts.

A minute later, as the cab comes around the corner of Longbarrow Street towards the tawny buildings of Whitford, someone tries in turn to call her: Lorelei. Emilia looks at her ringing phone for a moment, knowing that this is about what she did in Lavender, and swipes to decline.

After all, Lorelei's going to want to call her again after this article goes out, and Emilia is nothing if not efficient. It only makes sense to consolidate.

She switches her phone to silent and jams it down at the bottom of her bag, then takes it out again and turns it off completely. _Then_ she thinks that perhaps Mark will need to call or text her, so she turns it back on, puts the volume back up and returns it to its usual place, all her efforts undone.

 _SUNFLOWER_ , says Nadia, her mind coiling in dense, comforting bands through Emilia's own. _OKAY_.

Emilia forces a smile and reaches up, runs her fingertips through the soft fluff around Nadia's neck.

"Thank you," she says. "I love you too."

 _SUNFLOWER_ , repeats Nadia. _ONWARDS_.

"Yeah. Onwards."

Past the Gardner Building, past the spire of the Carlacke Media Tower. Late lunchers scurrying back to their offices, suit jackets flapping at the edges in the autumn breeze. Pigeons flapping away from crumbs as the pidgey swoop down, wings stirring the air in ways that suggest the beginnings of a gust or whirlwind. Saying: _I'm a pokémon, sod off_.

She should have picked the fruit, she thinks. The more promptly she does this, the more oddish will sprout. Does she want all Effie's work to be in vain? No. No, that would be the worst possible outcome; that would mean that there really was no reason for her to die. Effie has to live on. Emilia promises herself that she'll do it when she gets back, and knows in her heart that she probably won't.

They're at Rademaeker Circus now, swinging right around the statue of the great alakazam elder _kzunic-utra;_ past the turning you'd take to head northeast towards Battleside Park, where the Gym and League offices and trainers' markets are; down Red Way Street and turning at last onto Northcote. Emilia clenches her fists to stop herself biting her nails and keeps her face as calm and blank as she can as the cab coasts to a halt outside number 132, beneath the electric sign spewing _Cataphract_ headlines at anyone who cares to read them.

"Okay," says Emilia, handing a twenty-florin note to the driver. "Thanks very much."

"All right, love," he replies, which is annoying but what can you do, and then Emilia gets out and he drives away and she catches sight of Mark coming towards her from the entrance, clean-shaven now and hair slicked back into place.

"Hey," he says. "Ready?"

A breath. A heartbeat. A sense of history in the making.

"Yeah," says Emilia, switching her phone back to silent again. "I am."

* * *

Sovereign doesn't immediately attack: they just hang there, watching and waiting. Artemis doesn't stop to consider why; she calls out and Brauron spits an unstable, coruscating bolt of flame towards them that should, if she's got this right, explode on contact―

Sovereign's finger moves slightly, and the flame burst impacts harmlessly on air that has suddenly turned blue and crooked, distorting the pokémon behind it like a pane of warped glass.

 _Obvious_ , they say, as Brauron hisses and takes a step back, unnerved by her failure. _Try again_.

Artemis swallows. She hadn't even thought of that – had been too worried about Sovereign's incredible offensive power to consider their equally impressive defences. How do you get past something that can raise a barrier that strong so quickly, and with so little effort? And they're still _levitating_ , too, like that's nothing; they want to show her she can't win, that they're so much stronger that this is totally hopeless―

"Follow!" cries Cass, and Ringo springs forward into a shadowy blur; Sovereign twitches again and the air thickens, but Ringo flies straight through, shielded by the dark-type move – only for Sovereign to reach up and swat him away lazily with the back of one hand. The darkness evaporates from his feathers, he squawks loudly in surprise, and a moment later Ringo is struggling back up onto his feet, fluffing his feathers and trying hard to look like he meant for that to happen.

 _Better_ , says Sovereign, as he and Brauron back off towards their trainers, wanting further instructions. _Not good enough_.

"Crap," says Cass. "I kinda thought …"

"It was a good thought." Think, Artie. You beat Blaine, right? Even when it seemed impossible. And Sovereign knows you can't beat them; that's not what they're looking for. Difficult to say what they _are_ looking for, but it isn't that. They're not attacking, anyway. This isn't that kind of fight. So take your time, think things through, and just try to land a hit.

"Together," says Artemis, mind alive with anxious, predictive energy. "Either side, ready to mirror."

"Okay," replies Cass, either getting it or just rolling with it, hard to say. "Ringo! Ten o'clock, buster! And flect!"

"Brauron, three, turn, splode!"

Ringo breaks left, Brauron right; his feathers begin to gleam with an odd, flat light, and when Brauron's flame burst explodes harmlessly on Sovereign's barrier, he catches one of the stray sparks on his glowing chest – a spark that, a split second later, blooms into a second fireball that screams up at Sovereign from the other side―

―and flies harmlessly over their shoulder as they float sedately backwards, reality rippling with their passage.

 _Good_ , says Sovereign, drifting back into position. _But insufficient_.

"What are you even trying to prove?" cries Cass. "Like you can't seriously expect―"

They raise their hand and something barely visible snakes through the air towards them, making for one terrible moment a ghost person appear in Sovereign's throne, before Brauron croaks fiercely and belches a dark smog up into the psywave's path. Elements clash, something cracks sharply, and drops of water spray out in all directions as the psychic move burns the poison straight out of the gas.

 _Good block_. Sovereign flares their nostrils. _I don't know if you can take credit for it_.

"I," mumbles Artemis, trying to get over the ghost person. "I, um …"

"Did you just try to psywave us?" asks Cass, wiping water from her face. "What the hell? That's not okay! Artemis has – I dunno what, exactly, but―"

 _You said you'd fight me_ , says Sovereign coolly. _So fight me_.

"That's not what―"

 _Fight me_ , they repeat, and Artemis touches Cass' arm, still not able to talk properly but able at least to do that.

"Cass," she whispers. "Cass, no."

"Being strong doesn't give you licence to be an asshole," says Cass, ignoring her. "You have to―"

 _Strength is_ , begins Sovereign, and then suddenly swings around as Cass makes a movement with her hand and Ringo launches himself at them from the side; this time he almost gets them, shrouded blackly in his pursuit, but at the last moment Sovereign manages to get their axe up and smacks him away with the flat of the blade.

 _I like that_ , they announce, as Ringo flaps furiously and just about manages to right himself. _Give no quarter. If words are all you have, then use them_.

Ringo shrieks and dives at them again; Artemis stammers something and Brauron spits a rolling cloud of sparking blue-purple dragonfire that sticks to Sovereign's barrier like napalm. With a grunt of annoyance, they cancel the shield, letting the fire drop harmlessly to the floor, and in the same movement swing their arm around to catch Ringo as he approaches, knocking him back towards Cass.

 _You begin to show your worth_ , they say. _But I am not yet impressed_.

And why would they be? All they're doing – even the two of them together – is keeping them busy, and barely even that. Artemis has to come up with something else, something better, and she doesn't _have_ something better, has only got one badge and even then Blaine basically gifted it to her, she's just a crazy kid with a headful of ghosts and―

No. Calm. Breathe, and think. Sovereign's too strong for any attacks to really hurt them, but there has to be a way. There has to be.

Artemis watches them for a moment, watches Brauron and Ringo circling warily on the damp stone floor, and then it comes to her.

"Okay," she says suddenly, keeping her voice low. "Okay, Cass, pursuit on my word."

"You got something?"

"Dunno. Brauron! Back over here, now. Two o'clock."

Sovereign hangs there, waiting. Their face is unreadable; Artemis can't tell if they overheard her or not. She tries not to let it get to her, focuses on keeping track of where everything is: Brauron, moving into position, Ringo, just a little off to one side. Almost. Almost. And―

" _Now_ ," she hisses, and just like that Cass snaps _follow!_ , and Ringo goes dark again, hurling himself at Sovereign's barrier―

"Cloud on Ringo!" cries Artemis. "Everything you've got!"

And Brauron's mouth fills with poison – and Ringo's beak shears through the barrier – and Sovereign moves to swat him away – and there it is, all the timings working out, the poison cloud gusting straight through the hole in the barrier that Ringo has made, spilling out around him over Sovereign's face―

―and fizzling out harmlessly in a wash of pale light.

Safeguard. Artemis recognises it from TV. Sovereign can use safeguard, and they're a psychic-type, and they were never in any bloody danger of being poisoned from the start.

They swat Ringo away, and this time he doesn't hop back up immediately; he staggers, looking groggy, and stays where he is, swaying. The sight of him is like a punch to the gut. Look what you did, Artemis tells herself, staring. Look what you did, you tried to be smart and all you managed to do was get Ringo hurt. This is the problem with people like you. You try to be clever and you forget to be kind―

 _We are nearly done here, I think_ , says Sovereign, looking at Ringo without interest. _Your move again_.

Brauron hisses and slithers forward to place herself between them and Ringo, fins flared in a tiny pointless display of bravado. Her mouth looks dry, and when she croaks without spitting so much as a spark Artemis knows it's over. She put everything she had into that poison gas, just like Artemis said. And now what? Now she's out of fuel, now Ringo's poisoned. Now they're going to fail and Sovereign will abandon them to the tender mercies of Giovanni and his schemes. All because of her. Because she isn't even worthy of the badge she claims to have earned.

"I," she says, struggling to find her voice. "I – I'm sorry, Cass, I …"

Cass doesn't say anything. She's staring, Artemis thinks, although she isn't sure if it's at Sovereign or at Ringo; she can't make herself look to make sure.

"Claw," mutters Artemis. "I … claw, Brauron."

Loyal to the end, Brauron pounces and rakes her stubby nails across Sovereign's barrier, with absolutely no result. Sovereign shakes their head and raises their free hand.

 _So it ends_ , they say, blue light gathering around their fingers. _How unfortunate. I thought you were strong_.

They pull their hand back―

Artemis is a lot of things, is a coward and a failure and a fraud; she's defective, she's just functional, she's a bad son and a worse daughter. But she's loyal, to the bloody end, and before she even knows what she's doing she's grabbed something from the junk pile and she's moving and it's a weak attack, just a psywave, meant to incapacitate Brauron and not to kill, but it's like the bones of her skull have fractured and there are stars and the world is strange colours and somewhere inside her bad things rise up from the cracks and Artemis disintegrates and instead the ghost people rush forwards with their bleeding fingers raised high―

A sound. Loud. Voices. Sovereign pulls back sharply, staring at their barrier, cracked where Artemis smashed the oar from the old boat across it with all the massive strength she has spent the last four years denying that she has.

It fades.

 _Yes_ , says Sovereign, indicating the crack in their barrier. _Trust no strength but that of your arm._

"Oh fuck you," says Artemis, in a thin, mean voice that doesn't seem like hers, and she picks up Brauron and holds her close as Cass puts her arm around her.

Sovereign tilts their head slightly to one side, confused.

 _I do not_ , they begin, but Cass interrupts.

"Save it," she says, sounding tired. "You win, okay? You're strong and we're not. Are you happy?"

Sovereign looks at her, then back at Artemis. Through the remnants of the psychic link, Artemis can sense their bewilderment – and their guilt. She holds Brauron close, feels her all scratchy and warm against her chest, and says nothing.

 _I don't understand_ , they say.

"Of course you don't," mutters Cass. "Look, this was a mistake, I guess. For some reason we sort of thought you might have an interest in stopping Giovanni Dioli acquiring superhuman powers for evil purposes? But whatever, you don't, so we'll just go. You can stay here in your hole and hide out till the end of time, whatever."

Sovereign's pale eyes flash with anger.

 _How dare you_ , they begin, but Cass won't let them finish, keeps talking in a hard kind of way that seems to cut straight through the voice rippling in their heads.

"How dare _you_ ," she retorts. "You're a runaway kid holed up in a cave. You think that making a shitty crown out of tinfoil gives you the right to treat people like this? Get over yourself, asshole. In the meantime, Artie and I are gonna go save Kanto. Because apparently you just don't give a shit."

It's like she's forgotten what Sovereign is, what they can do. Artemis is spent now, frozen in the aftermath of her actions and the certain knowledge that if pushed too far Sovereign will not hesitate to kill, but Cass seems unstoppable. Her arm where it touches Artemis is hot, as if her anger is a real physical thing, boiling over inside her; wedged between the two heats, between Cass and Brauron, Artemis feels herself slowly thawing, the ice on her mind melting bit by bit.

 _You have proven yourself_ , says Sovereign. _You are strong, both of you, in arms and spirit. And I will come with you_.

"Too little too late," snaps Cass. "Ringo. Ball."

He disappears without complaint, eager to rest off the poison, and Cass is about to steer Artemis away when she pulls back and shakes her head.

"No," she says. "Cass – wait. I – I know you're angry, but we came here to get help, and …"

"They're being a hell of a lot less than helpful―"

"They've been through a lot―"

"Okay, right, but that's not an excuse. Right?"

Artemis sighs.

"Right," she says. "Right."

Sovereign watches the two of them argue without comprehension, their eyes flicking back and forth between their faces.

"Just … chill for a second," says Artemis. "Okay? I'm – I'm okay."

Cass hesitates, and in that moment Artemis knows she's won. Cass isn't unreasonable, after all. She'll come around, if she gives herself a moment to think. Besides, she isn't really angry at Sovereign, is she? She's angry at her parents. No one gets that upset just over Artemis.

"Well, you coulda fooled me," she says, and then winces as she hears what she's saying. "Ouch. Okay, I'm sorry. I just – I dunno what happened, but that looked like it did bad things to you."

Or maybe she is angry at Sovereign after all. Fine, whatever; Artemis has been wrong before and she'll probably keep being wrong till the day she dies.

"It … it did." Artemis has to pause then, has to swallow the fear as it surges back up like bile in her throat. "It did real bad things, but … I'm okay. And we need Sovereign's help."

She and Cass both turn to look at them, standing there before the throne. They aren't floating any more; the axe dangles loosely, unready. There's still something dangerous about them – probably there always is, just by virtue of them being what they are – but it's muted now, veiled by their unease.

 _Yes?_ they ask. Artemis has a feeling they aren't anywhere near as certain as they sound.

"We're cool," she says. "I wish you hadn't psywaved me but we're cool, I think."

 _I wasn't aiming for you_.

"I know. But I wasn't going to let you hit Brauron."

 _Yes. I see that now. You are … honestly, I don't know what to call you. A good person, perhaps_.

Artemis can't help but laugh a little at that. It comes out a bit wonky, a bit hysterical, but it is at least laughter.

"Okay," she says. "If you say so." Inward breath. Clear head. Brauron nosing at her elbow; Cass right there next to her. "So," she says. "You'll help us, then?"

 _Yes_. Sovereign's eyes are like old-fashioned silver florins, bright and lifeless. _I will_.

* * *

It's anticlimactic, in a way. Emilia was expecting resistance – and sure, there is some; the editor of _The Cataphract_ reacts to Mark's initial claim that Giovanni Dioli is heading a rogue black ops project to create fractures in the fabric of reality with polite disbelief. But then he shows her the photograph – and it's a good one, with the bright quivering mass of the breach entity front and centre – and Emilia gives her a Leaguely look and a frank confession that she's abandoning the League to expose this, and she starts to waver pretty quickly. She tosses in Cass and Artemis' testimony (names removed) and the medical reports, Mark piles on his own account – with the bright, terrified eyes of someone who has seen something terrible in the very recent past – and the battle is pretty much won. Emilia can see it in her eyes.

Scenting blood, she leans across the editor's desk with a grave expression and one hand planted firmly on the sheaf of papers.

"I have a duty to the Kantan people," she says. "I can't let that slide just because Giovanni has convinced the League otherwise."

The editor is a veteran of the industry. She has crossed swords with politicians and tycoons, broken down doors to cast daylight into the shady back rooms where deals are made; she's older than Emilia, and probably, in some ways, sharper. But she's _not_ Emilia, not frozen forever in the moment of conjuring herself out of nothing, not steeped in over a decade of the weirdest of weird shit, and when it's her mind against Emilia's, hers is the one to yield.

She nods slowly, not really noticing what she's doing, and she agrees, and Emilia leaves the room knowing that she's just bullied her way into making this work.

"Well, that went pretty well," says Mark quietly, walking her back out through the office to the elevator. "I'd almost forgotten how scary you are."

Emilia smiles, as if this is a compliment. After all this is over, if she hasn't been arrested – after all that, she's going to have to find a new line of work. At least she's being vicious for the sake of the moral good, she thinks, and then immediately wishes she hadn't thought it. That's probably exactly how Giovanni justifies all of this to himself.

"Well," she says. "I think the facts spoke for themselves."

"I'm not so sure," says Mark, as they approach the lift. "The photo was good, but that line about your duty to the Kantan people was better. Can I quote that for the article?"

Emilia laughs dutifully.

"Sure," she says. "Knock yourself out."

"Right." They stop; Mark presses the button. "Anyway, thanks," he goes on. "I don't know if I'd have got her on side working by myself."

She shrugs.

"Don't sell yourself short, Mark," she says. "Can you handle it from here?"

"The office is about thirty seconds away from exploding with the biggest news since the war," he replies. "Yeah, I think I can handle that."

"You're actually enjoying this, aren't you?"

He grins. It's refreshing, after the way he was this morning; _this_ is the Mark Emilia knows.

"I've been chasing this for ten years," he tells her. "Ever since Cinnabar. I knew there was _something_ you were hiding. And now …"

"Now you know."

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open.

"Yes," he says. "Now I know."

A short pause, full of unspoken words. Emilia vaguely considers asking how this works, how the office turns a report into the front page of the evening edition and a notification on a million and one smartphones; she suspects Mark is considering asking things too, although she does not intend to answer him if he does.

"Well," she says. "The lift's here."

"Yeah," he says. "It is."

Another short pause, and then the doors begin to close so Emilia steps in and waves goodbye.

"See you around, Mark," she says. "You get an exclusive interview when I get arrested."

"Uh, maybe don't joke about that," he says, and she thinks for a moment about telling him that she's serious before deciding that perhaps it's best if he doesn't know that.

"All right, then," she says. "I look forward to the headlines later tonight."

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asks, stepping forward suddenly to block the doors. "The League―"

"Forget the League," says Emilia. "Let me handle this, Mark. Like we agreed."

She pushes the button to close the doors and lets the lift take her away from his response, keeping her eyes closed all the way down, and then on the ground floor she takes out her phone again and sees the eight missed calls. Lorelei, Yasmin, a private number. Multiple private numbers.

In her mind's eye Emilia sees the lines converging, like murkrow descending towards a carcass, and she sighs.

"Right," she says, and walks out into the street to find a cab.

* * *

Emilia is lucky: she lives in an old building, in a once-shabby part of town gentrified way back during the Clairmont administration. And like so many Saffron apartment buildings of its era, it has a fire escape at the back. She has the driver drop her off on the street the other side of the block, slips down the passage and unlocks the rusty gate into what the landlord optimistically calls the courtyard, where she nods at Nadia and watches her make her way up the fire escape in a series of long, fluttering hops. A minute or so later, she sees the fifth-floor window unlatch itself and a speck of green pass through. Emilia waits a little longer, and a few minutes after catches sight of Nadia again, coming into view a few flights above her.

"Well?" she asks.

 _MIND WOMAN_ , says Nadia, and Emilia swears softly under her breath. It's like she thought, then.

"Anyone else?" she asks.

 _ONE. MIND MAN._

Probably Sabrina and her second, Jared. Two psychics, with psychic-types to back them up. Not that they'll be violent, but they _will_ want Emilia to come with them, and they're going to be firm about it.

Manageable. That's the thing about psychics, in Emilia's experience: their powers make them lazy. They'll expect to be able to sense Emilia coming from two floors away – and like everyone else, they're going to forget about her natu. They're psychic, sure. But they're trainers, not cops or League agents, and that means Emilia's got the advantage.

"All right," she says. "Can you hide me?"

Nadia puffs out her chest feathers proudly.

 _WE DISAPPEAR_ , she answers, taking up her usual position on Emilia's shoulder. _ONWARDS_.

"Onwards," she agrees, and, kicking off her heels to tread softer, starts to climb.

Up and up, the metal sun-warm against the soles of her feet. She's reminded of the last time she did this, on a different fire escape in a different city, too drunk to remember where her keys were and determined to get back into her apartment regardless. Someone called the cops on her then, after her alcohol-induced conviction that the window could be forced led her to accidentally smash it, and then they didn't believe she lived there and took her away in the back of the car.

This time, she tells herself, don't get caught. Or the results will be a hell of a lot worse than a night spent at the police station.

 _CRIMES_ , says Nadia, and Emilia almost laughs.

"Yeah," she says, the old anger seething beneath the surface. "Crimes."

She keeps climbing, ignoring the occasional look from the windows she passes, and around the second floor feels a pressure behind her eyes, like the first sign of a headache: Nadia's gone to work. Emilia isn't sure how completely she can mask the traces of their minds, or indeed how long she can keep it up, but then, there isn't anything she can do about it. She'll just have to keep going, and hope.

There is of course the option of just climbing back down and clearing out of here. She's got her purse, her phone, her bank card. Buy a different outfit, change up her hair, and Emilia could pretty easily evade the League, for a while at least. And she _will_ , as best she can; she needs to speak to Artemis again, for one thing, to fight Giovanni for as long as she can before they come for her.

But she didn't pick the fruit. And so now, at last, in the worst circumstances possible, she finally has to do it.

 _Your own damn fault, Em_ , Sam would say. And honestly, she'd be right. She could fix this, even now – could send Nadia up there to get Effie's fruit herself; her telekinesis isn't that strong, but Emilia has always insisted she practise, and she could do it – but she won't. Effie deserves her personal attention. If she couldn't get it right earlier, she has to get it right now.

Fourth floor. Fifth. Moving very slowly now, head aching, eyeballs dry. Careful. Quiet. She hasn't done this since she was a kid, sneaking up and down the stairs when her parents were watching TV, but her body remembers, shifts its weight in all the old familiar ways. Up, and up, and here's the apartment, the open window.

Lightly, easily, as if she were fifteen, Emilia climbs through and drops down onto the floor of her kitchen.

Listen: anything? No. No, she doesn't think so. Nobody knows she's here.

She breathes out, and pads noiselessly past the counter and along into the living-room, where Effie stands in the corner. She kneels, reaches out―

― _I love you, sweetie, and I'll love all your babies, and I'm sorry that this has all turned out so weird_ ―

―and picks the fruit.

It comes away very easily in her hand – too easily, almost obscenely easily, like a scab falling away at a touch. Emilia breathes in sharply to suppress a little cry, and as she lifts the fruit away with shaky fingers she sees Effie's stem slump with the unmistakeable listlessness of something dead.

Silent tears. Nadia breathing hard with the effort of containing all this emotion, of keeping it undetected by the psychics outside. She can't keep this up much longer, Emilia knows, but it's so hard to move, so hard to do anything but stare and weep for her beautiful dead friend. Still. She is a professional, even if she is mourning, and she has a duty to the Kantan people, and there is an unimaginably brave and desperate young woman out there who needs her help, and also, hell, she might as well admit that she _really_ doesn't want to be arrested; she is all of these things, all of these obligations and all of these fears, and though even combining the lot together doesn't match even half of what she had with Effie, she cannot deny the claims they have on her, and so she kisses the dead thing that is no longer her partner and turns and makes her way back out through the kitchen and back down the fire escape.

The headache fades. Her eyes stop hurting. She sits down on the last step of the fire escape, head in one hand and Effie's fruit in the other, and Nadia presses up against her cheek, cheeping and broadcasting her concern in deep, wordless waves of affection.

"I love you too," says Emilia, wiping her eyes, crushing her mascara into her face. "I … I miss Effie."

 _EFFIE_ , says Nadia, a hundred hundred memories dancing just beneath the surface of the word, and Emilia sniffs and wipes away fresh tears.

"Yeah," she says, staring at the vivid fruit in her hand. "Yeah, me too."

* * *

It takes a while for everyone to get over their awkwardness, but it has to happen sooner or later. Eventually, Sovereign puts down their axe and sits down in their throne, and the three of them start to talk through what to do next.

"Okay," says Artemis. "So I don't know how much of our plan you saw in my head, but um, we'll need to call up Emilia and ask her about what we should do. You know? From my memory?"

 _Yes. The League woman_. Sovereign does not sound pleased. _I have seen her before, after my escape._

"Yeah, she said." Artemis hesitates. "Is this going to be a problem?"

 _You tell me_ , says Sovereign. _Your thoughts were unclear. Is she still affiliated with the League?_

"No. No, she's sort of … well, she's taking the story about Giovanni to the press," says Artemis, guilt rising within her. "I think probably the League will want her arrested after that."

Sovereign's nostrils flare with some inscrutable emotion.

"Hmph," they grunt. _So she grew a conscience. How convenient_.

"I trust her," says Artemis, although she isn't sure that she does, and knows that Sovereign can probably tell.

 _Do you?_ they ask. _Do you really?_

"I … think so?"

A long pause. Sovereign's eyes bore into hers, unblinking.

 _All right_ , they say. _But you are responsible for her conduct. If she betrays me …_

"Could you just quit threatening us?" asks Cass, sounding tired. "Seriously. We _know_ you're dangerous, okay?"

 _I am being careful_ , says Sovereign curtly. _If you were being hunted, you would understand_.

"Okay," says Cass. "Okay. But we're not going to betray you. And we'll take responsibility for Emilia, too. Is that enough?"

Sovereign sniffs and looks away.

 _I suppose._

"Great," says Artemis. "Great, so that's … that."

 _Yes._ Sovereign hesitates. _One moment_. They step behind their throne and bend to pick something up – and then, strangely, hold back; Artemis can see the indecision in the slope of their shoulders, the twitching of their muscular tail. _This_ , they begin, turning towards her again, and then break off to fiddle with the thing in their hand. _This is …_

They stop again, pick up and put down the axe, run their fingers across their bloody brow.

 _If you abuse the trust I am about to place in you_ , they say, and then shake their head. _No. No, I think … I mean, I_ will _kill you, but – but I do not think you will._ A sigh – voiced, like their earlier harrumph; it seems a strangely human sound to issue from those leonine jaws. _Just take it_ , they say, thrusting the object at Artemis. _Before I have a chance to change my mind_.

She takes it quickly, afraid to disobey, and only once she has it in her hands does she see what it is: a poké ball of some kind, deep purple with raised pink panels that have the telltale chill of dark-type material, and a little M engraved in the front.

"I've never seen one like that before," says Cass, staring.

 _They are not common_. Sovereign's eyes are locked on the ball, as if they don't trust it not to suddenly devour them now that it is out of their possession. _It is what they call a master ball. Catches any pokémon, without fail._

Cass looks up sharply.

"You mean―?"

 _Yes. I cannot break loose from it_. Sovereign's voice is so low as to almost be a growl, making Artemis' mind tremble and Brauron burrow deeper into her arms. _I cannot destroy it, either. And believe me, I have tried_.

"This – I was gonna say that isn't ethical at _all_ , but like, I guess none of this stuff is." Cass sighs. "I guess they're made for―"

 _Monsters_ , says Sovereign curtly. _Rampaging gyarados. Stray tyranitar. And_ ―

"Breach pokémon," says Artemis softly. "Why are you giving this to me?"

 _Because although I am strong, I cannot take the combined power of the League_ , replies Sovereign. _Something that will be proven to you soon enough if I am spotted walking the streets of Kanto. So if I need to enter a town, I must go … incognito_.

Artemis hesitates. This is a big thing; Sovereign doesn't have to say it for her to know. The master ball is a chain binding them to Cinnabar House, to human mastery, to the whims of those who would use them like they tried to back in 2007. To go back inside it after ten years, _voluntarily_ … well, that's a kind of bravery that frankly staggers her.

"Are you sure?" she asks, and Sovereign flares their nostrils.

"Hmph," they say aloud, a harsh noise like a tauros snorting. Then: _No, of course not. But I don't see any alternative. Giovanni must be stopped. I do not think I could do it alone; I do not think you could, either. And if I am to travel with you, I must go unseen_.

"Wait," says Cass. "So you agree he has to be stopped?"

 _Yes_.

"Then what the hell was that fight all about?"

Sovereign fixes her with a stare. To her credit – and Artemis' frank amazement – she doesn't back down.

 _I am a pokémon_ , they say simply. _You are trainers. There is a shape to these things. And … I was not sure, until then. You are the first to find me, and that was … startling_.

An uncomfortable pause. Sovereign's face is impossible to read, but by the way their tail is lashing, Artemis can't imagine they feel very much at their ease. It's hard to believe, in a way – how can someone as powerful as Sovereign fear anything? – but she understands. She's strong too, in one way. And that kind of strength has been less than no help at all when it comes to the biggest challenges of her life. Some things will always be frightening.

"Yeah," she says slowly. "Yeah, I guess I can understand that."

Sovereign gives her a long, unsettling look.

 _You really do, don't you?_ they say, in the end. _How infinitely depressing._

"Yeah," says Artemis again. "I guess it really kinda is."

* * *

Emilia has daydreamed about this sometimes, in particularly tedious meetings. She supposes everyone must do, or at least everyone who has a difficult relationship with their job. In her imagination, she walks out of whatever office she's in, buys a set of clothes she'd never normally consider wearing, something so not Emilia that nobody would ever recognise her in it, then throws her phone into the river and catches the express train out to the airport, where she takes the first seat on any international flight available and disappears into the sky.

It's comforting to think about this now, to relate what she's doing to that dream. It makes her awareness that the state of Kanto is currently after her slightly less terrifying.

In Galkirk Village, in Saffron's east end, she buys herself some nondescript clothing and a pair of aviator shades that her younger self would have thought were the coolest thing. She changes, takes the tie out of her hair, and feels it begin to spring back again into the coiled mass she has spent her professional life trying to suppress. A little further along, on Montgomery Street, she buys a cheap phone and a SIM card, copies across the few numbers she needs to keep, and drops the old one over the railing on the Castle Bridge. It falls a long, long way, and disappears with a satisfying splash.

Emilia breathes out. Okay, she thinks: what now? She's going through the motions, but she's not going to pretend that she's any good at this kind of thing; she's seen enough of the League and the police to know that a good psy officer will have found her in a day or two. How can she make best use of that time?

Artemis, she replies. She needs to get hold of Artemis. Either she's dead or she has a legendary pokémon with her. Whichever it is, Emilia has to know.

North of Galkirk, in Sere Fields, Emilia stops to buy a latte in a faux-French café on the Old East Road. She has no appetite for it, not with the day she's having, but she can't face making this call standing up, she just can't, and this is the easiest way to get herself somewhere to sit. Ignoring her cooling coffee, she brings up Artemis' number, and listens to the phone ringing in her ear.

"Pick up," she mutters, crossing her fingers. "Come on. Pick up. Pick up and don't be dead …"

"Um, hello?" asks Artemis, confused by the unfamiliar number, and every knotted muscle in Emilia's body unclenches at once.

"Hi," she replies. "It's Emilia. I'm – I'm on a different … Artemis, where are you?"

"Cerulean." Pause. "On the bus back into town. I was gonna call you when I was back at the Centre."

"Back into …? So you went …?"

No answer, for what feels like an age. Nadia tenses, locks eyes nervously with Emilia as she listens in through her ears.

"Their name is Sovereign," says Artemis, in the end. "And … and they're gonna help us."

Emilia exhales.

"Jesus Christ," she says, unable for once to control herself. "Sorry. I – I've been thinking all day that I might have sent you to your deaths."

"You didn't send us …"

"I didn't stop you."

"You couldn't have stopped us," says Artemis. "I was gonna go anyway."

"Well, I guess that's probably true." Emilia could argue, but doesn't; she's too relieved to spoil things now. "We should talk about what to do next," she says instead. "I'll come up to Cerulean."

"Are you sure? What about your appointment with the editor?"

"Over and done with," she says. "Check the website. If the story isn't up, it will be soon enough. And now that that's done, I should probably leave Saffron for a while anyway."

"Oh. Yeah. Um … well, we'll be in the Centre."

"I'll be there soon. The maglev doesn't take long."

"Right," says Artemis. "Um, Emilia?"

"Yes?"

"Good luck."

She sounds like she means it. Nadia twitters, touched; Emilia smiles sadly and scratches her feathery head.

"Thank you, Artemis," she says. "Take care. I'll be there soon, and we can talk about this properly."

"Okay. Okay, bye."

"Bye."

She hangs up, and lifts Nadia back up onto her shoulder.

"I guess it's time to go," she says, putting her phone back into her bag and briefly touching Effie's fruit, safely wrapped in tissues down at the bottom. She stares hard at the table for a moment, concentrating on holding back tears, and then takes her hand away and straightens up.

There will be time to mourn later, she thinks. Artemis has come back alive, miraculously, and more than that she's just given them a fighting chance. And Emilia definitely cannot afford to waste it.


	19. 13: They That Have the Power to Hurt

**13: THEY THAT HAVE THE POWER TO HURT**

Sovereign, thankfully, doesn't come with them. They don't want to be contained in their ball for any longer than necessary; they say they'll follow at a distance, in the wilderness.

 _That ball and I have history_ , they said, before Cass and Artemis left. _I will feel the vibrations if you grip it and think of me. Do that, and we can speak to arrange a meeting._

Artemis didn't argue. The alternative, she was pretty sure, would be for Sovereign to stay in the ball but telepathically jack in to her brain, to see and hear through her eyes and ears, and that's probably not something she can do without her grip on reality dissolving entirely.

So: Sovereign's out there, somewhere, watching and waiting, and Emilia's out there too, coming north to Cerulean, and in the meantime Cass and Artemis are on the bus, flicking through the news on their phones, wide-eyed.

"Holy crap," says Cass, staring. "She actually did it. She pulled it off."

She did. It's all there: _BREAKING NEWS: INDIGO LEAGUE BLACK OPS AGENCY GONE ROGUE_ , a stock photo of Giovanni Dioli in front of his Gym, a 56-page inset PDF of all the documents thus far released. A photograph of the Lavender breach entity, coruscating beneath the treeline on a darkened hillside. (How did they even get that?)

And Emilia's name front and centre, with a Q&A right alongside. Artemis' gaze lingers here, on her concise, informative answers. There's a lot of data here. She must have given the _Cataphract_ editor everything she had. Which means … well, bad things, probably. Why didn't she just do this anonymously? Couldn't she have protected herself that way?

No, Artie, she thinks: Lorelei knew she was getting out of line; that's why she suspended her. Doesn't matter if her name's on the leak or not, the League will know who's behind it. She might as well throw her weight behind it and give it some extra credibility.

The callousness of this calculation disturbs her. She wishes that she couldn't see how this worked – that she was, somehow, naïve enough to not have to carry this knowledge. But she can, and she isn't, so she just keeps scrolling through the live updates and worrying.

It's okay. It isn't, Emilia is probably going to be arrested and Giovanni is still out there and the fate of the world rests more or less completely on her, Cass and a giant cat with an axe, but it's okay.

Brauron wakes up in her lap, hissing in disapproval, and Artemis realises she's accidentally begun to squeeze instead of stroking. She flinches and pulls her hand away sharply, feeling a million desperate apologies all getting stuck on one another in their haste to get out of her mouth, trying unsuccessfully to shift her mental image of a fistful of bloody mush; and Brauron starts and crouches, staring up as she stares down; and Artemis only realises she's crying when Cass asks if she's okay.

She shakes her head, still unable to speak, and Cass very slowly and awkwardly pats her shoulder, unable to really get her arm around her in her seat, or to tell if Artemis even really wants her to. For a moment Artemis is suspended between moments, a drop of oil slithering across the surface of an aqueous reality, and then Brauron insinuates herself into her cardigan, pressing close to her side, and Cass says _it's gonna be okay_ , and Artemis slides back into herself with a thump that seems to shake her muscles loose on her bones.

She doesn't deserve this sympathy, from Brauron or from Cass. She can't even deal with this body, this overwrought baroque abomination, and she hurts Brauron just trying to touch her and she breaks things and she runs away and she breaks down in tears on public transport and she has the _gall_ to suggest that the problem might not be her, that she deserves a partner, a journey, a choice.

Ground yourself, she orders, through the smoke of the garbage fire burning inside her. Things you can see, hear, feel. She counts shopfronts and ringtones, the smoothness of the window and the worn-out fuzz of the bus seat, and though the fire does not go out she does at least manage to suck in all the fumes so no one else gets poisoned.

It's not perfect. That's okay. These things never are.

"Thank you," she whispers, wiping her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Hey," says Cass. "It's fine. Really."

"I know," says Artemis, trying to work up the courage to touch Brauron, not succeeding. "But you know."

Cass sighs.

"Yeah," she says. "I know."

* * *

Cass is nice. Artemis has said it so many times, but it bears repeating. She sticks close to Artemis right the way back, is apparently aware of how much just being near someone can mean, and she insists Artemis come with her when she goes to take Ringo to the Centre doctors for a check-up. They say he just needs a potion and day or two of rest (and somewhere underneath everything part of Artemis is amazed that Brauron is that strong already, that she's capable of putting Ringo out of commission like that), and tell her to let him take it easy for a while.

"Sure," she says. "You'll like that, right birdbrain?"

He chirps weakly and bites her finger.

"Close enough," she says, wincing. "Okay. So like it's thing, water, milk, right, Artie?"

It takes a moment for Artemis to realise what it is she's offering, and then she smiles.

"Yeah," she says. "Thank you."

Back in the lounge, it seems like the news has broken. Some older kids, fifteen or so, are flipping the TV between various news channels, KNBC to TohjoView to Republic and back again, looking for further information on the story currently clogging up their phones' activity feeds.

"… massive leak from a high-level League source," Artemis hears the newscaster say, and looks helplessly at Cass.

"You go," she says. "I'll be up in a minute."

Artemis smiles her thanks and leaves Cass making the tea, the TV squawking in the background. She can't deal with this right now. She's going to have to, sooner or later, but right now? Right now, she needs a minute or two to herself. This afternoon, she allied with a legendary pokémon and saw ROCKETS torn out of its shell and thrown into the public eye. That is _more_ than enough to warrant a little downtime.

Brauron has fallen asleep again, tired out after the fight against Sovereign, and Artemis transfers her carefully from her arms to a pillow, where she curls herself into an adorable little comma that makes Artemis smile without realising. She looks at her for a while, struck as she sometimes is by how beautiful the variegated blacks of her back are, and then when Cass knocks at the door with tea and coffee she lets her in.

They lie around for a bit quietly, not really talking, just listening to the breathing of their sleeping partners and drinking. It's quiet, and peaceful, and it's not much but it is, in its own way, healing. Artemis pulls the ragged scraps of herself back together, and breathes out.

"Okay," she says, after a while. "Okay, I think I'm all right."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I'm glad," says Cass. "I think I'm all right too."

Pause. Brauron yawns in her sleep and breathes hot air onto Artemis' ear.

"When d'you think Emilia will get here?"

"Dunno. Guess she'll call us when she does."

She could close her eyes right now and she'd probably fall asleep. She won't; there's stuff to do, and anyway she doesn't want to roll over and crush Brauron. But she could. Artemis holds this feeling in the palm of her hand, soft and warm and infinitely precious, and stifles a yawn of her own.

"I guess it depends what we decide we're gonna do," she says. "But I mean if you wanted to see your girlfriend while we're in town …"

"I'll call her later," says Cass. "After Emilia. I think she has work today anyway." Another pause. "Then I'd really like it if we could get out of Cerulean and like not come back for ages."

"Sure," says Artemis. "I think we can swing that."

The pause stretches out into a silence, and then Artemis' phone buzzes and it all vanishes into the past.

"Emilia?" It's the same number as last time; maybe she's got a new phone.

"Artemis," she says. Her voice makes Artemis' guts clench: trust, or not? So hard to tell, with someone who can plan all this out so meticulously, who can smile and comfort and lie all in the same breath. "I'm in the lobby. The clerk told me you're back?"

"Yeah." Artemis' voice sounds stronger than she expects, almost like she isn't worried at all. "Yeah, I went up here so I didn't have to – well, they've got the news on in the lounge."

"Yes, I can hear it from here. Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Just … tired."

"I can't even imagine," says Emilia. "What you've done … you know what, we should talk in person. Shall I come up?"

"Okay. Room 22."

"Got it. See you in a minute."

They sit up, shedding the quiet, and by the time the knock at the door comes a few moments later Artemis feels more or less ready for it.

"Hi," says Emilia, when she lets her in. "God. Are you two okay? And Brauron and Ringo?"

She sounds different – that's her other voice, the non-professional one, and there's an intensity to her voice that seems out of place for her. She _looks_ different, too: jeans and a hoodie quite frankly look wrong on her, and her hair, normally straightened or bound back in a tight ponytail or both, is loose in a huge shock of tight black curls. For a moment, Artemis doesn't even recognise her, but sure enough, that's Nadia on her shoulder, peeping through the hair.

Is this honesty? Impossible to be sure. Maybe it's just a disguise, to throw the League off her trail. Artemis feels the void of not-knowing yawning at her feet, calling her to jump, and she takes a deliberate step back.

"Yeah," she says, like it's nothing. "Yeah, we're okay. Brauron's tired. Ringo got … Ringo got hurt, but he's, um, I think he's okay."

"He's fine," says Cass assertively. "Just needs some rest."

Emilia looks from her to Artemis and back again. She looks, if anything, even more tired than when they last met.

"Okay," she says. "Okay." She sighs, shakes her head. "I don't know what I was expecting. Broken bones, maybe. But you – you spoke to it? And …" She breaks off. "Let me try that one again: why don't you talk me through what happened?"

* * *

It's quite a story, Emilia has to admit. She has no idea how they managed it, but apparently two teenagers have done in a couple of days what the entirety of the Indigo League couldn't in ten years. They found Mew-2, and they made friends with it.

With them, even. With Sovereign. Because apparently Mew-2 isn't a monster, it's a person, a very badly hurt person who happened to have the supernatural powers requisite to take revenge on the people who hurt them, and that's the real revelation here. And Emilia coordinated part of an offensive that drove them to hide in a hole in the ground for ten years.

Forget the guilt: it means nothing, does nothing, except act as a spur to greater action. Focus on what should be done.

"What you've done is incredible," she says. "You should know that. I know things have been weird, and maybe your sense of what's normal has got sort of skewed – but this is incredible. I hope you appreciate that."

"Thanks," replies Cass. "Like seriously. But you know, we still have to … do whatever it is we have to do."

Artemis smiles awkwardly but says nothing. It seems fair, after everything that's happened today.

"That's true. It doesn't mean that what you've already done is meaningless, though." Enough? Probably enough. "But. Back to next steps." Think. What should you do? What _can_ you do, at this point? The only asset they have is Sovereign. And Sovereign's strength is, well, their strength. "The question is where ROCKETS is based," she says. "If we can figure that out, Sovereign can probably destroy it by themself. It took the Elite Four and Champion combined to even drive them back last time, and I don't think Giovanni is going to be able to muster that sort of strength."

"We can't make that decision," says Artemis immediately. "We need to talk to Sovereign."

"Yes. Of course." Emilia pauses. Again: forget the guilt, press on. "We also have to work out where they're based. They've changed locations since the project was officially terminated. We can't come up with a plan of attack without knowing where to strike. And – I don't want to be pessimistic, but we need to know that _soon_. If Giovanni's people have really worked out how to control breach already, it's just a matter of time before they've won."

"Uh, well," says Cass. "How are we gonna do that, exactly? I mean, not to speak for you or anything, Artie, but I don't think either of us have access to that kind of information. Not really something I can just ask my aunt about, y'know?"

Artie, Emilia notes, with some satisfaction. That's good. Artemis could use a friend. And, well, considering that Cass went with her to face Sovereign and back, she's inclined to think that she fits the bill.

"Yeah," says Artemis. "I mean I guess we could ask Sovereign, but they only knew ROCKETS ten years ago, so …"

"No, I see that." Emilia thinks about it for a moment. "Nadia?" she asks. "Got anything?"

Nadia considers, then summons up a fragment of Lorelei's last phone call, so vivid that it feels for an instant like Emilia really is back out there in the city heat, listening to her speak:

 _Internal review didn't find anything. They went to the ROCKETS site and it was completely empty_.

Emilia frowns slightly, puzzled.

"Nadia?"

 _NOT SITE_ , says Nadia. _ROCKET_.

"What is it?" asks Cass. "Does she have an idea?"

"Hang on." Emilia repeats the words over in her head, running through potential interpretations. Not site rocket. Not at the ROCKETS site? But that would just be restating what Lorelei said; no point in saying that. And she said _rocket_ , singular. So … wait. Not site, _comma_ , Rocket.

Not the ROCKETS site, but the Rocket.

It is one of those realisations that strikes like a stone falling into a still, clear pool of deep water. Emilia sits completely motionless for at least five seconds, mind racing. Where else? Where could Giovanni set up shop without anyone noticing? Where do his employees frequently drive windowless bulletproof vans, ostensibly full of money but, perhaps, actually full of equipment? Where could he set up the necessary security measures without anyone thinking it strange? And, most importantly – where does he spend all his time when he isn't at the Viridian Gym?

It's so simple, so elegant, that Emilia can't help but admire it. The place is already built like a fortress: no windows, armed guards, CCTV like nobody's business. And why wouldn't it be? Vast sums of money flow through the place every day, surfing on a toxic wave of alcohol, avarice and frustration. Anyone can tell it needs security just by looking at it.

"Damn," she breathes. "How long have you known that, Nadia?"

A lazy curl of nonchalance wafts through her mind.

"You just worked it out, huh." Emilia shakes her head. "All right. This is … going to be tricky, actually."

"What is it?" asks Artemis. "Did she get it?"

"Yes, she did." Emilia reaches up and scratches Nadia's head. "The Rocket. ROCKETS is based at Giovanni's flagship casino."

Cass and Artemis stare.

"Are you serious?" asks Cass. "Like … in a _casino?_ "

"It's already fortified," Emilia replies. "So that works out. And honestly, I'm not sure where else Giovanni would be able to set up without being seen unless he actually left Kanto. Nor where he could afford to set up. I know he's rich, but he's not _that_ rich. He owns a few casinos in a small city in a nation that half the world can't find on a map; that's not enough to build a fortified installation from scratch in complete secrecy."

Neither of them have anything to say in response to that. And what is there to say, anyway? They've been running round Kanto, sneaking and trying not to get caught, and now suddenly they're supposed to turn around and fight? It feels strange – feels _wrong_ , even; it's not just that Cass and Artemis are kids, that they have no business getting caught up in this mess, it's that there is something deeply unsettling about all of this, about supervillainy breaking free from comic strips and into reality. Dark experiments on the fabric of the universe being done from some secret lab in the heart of a casino: that's unreal, and that's bad. Worse is the fact that they're going to have to attack it, just because no one else will.

Emilia supposes she could take this information to the press, could work that angle further. But what's the point? Giovanni is as good a politician as she is, probably better, and he'll be able to play for time, deliver counter-arguments, tie up investigations, even if only for a day or two. Which might be all he needs; frankly, if he's already giving orders to breach entities, if he's testing the limits of his control, then it may already be too late. What they need is a way to take his operation down now, before things escalate any further, and they have one, in Sovereign. A way to force an ending.

It's going to be dangerous. But if the alternative is some jumped-up Kantan exceptionalist gaining mastery over the fundamental forces of the universe …

She waits for someone else to speak, not wanting to force this on them. After some time, Artemis nods.

"Okay," she says, rolling the master ball between her fingers. "I guess we need to talk to Sovereign."

* * *

Sovereign will only leave their cave for the outskirts of town after dark, when they can more easily keep hidden. This is fair enough, but it also leaves an uncomfortable amount of time for everyone to fill before the meeting takes place. Emilia tells Cass and Artemis that she'll be monitoring the news situation, and heads out into Cerulean to make her preparations.

She's not lying. She _is_ monitoring the news situation; every few minutes, another slew of updates pings onto her phone, and she sees the ROCKETS story unfold across every news site in Kanto and a few beyond it. But there's something else she has to do, something she doesn't particularly want to share. If you're going to do something potentially life-threatening, and she is, then you need to square it with your loved ones. Emilia doesn't have any of those any more, but she does have an old friend in Bluefield Cemetery.

So. Out of town again, along the same route she took a few days ago. She passes the same row of shops where she bought the flowers last time, and stops in to buy some matches. Not that she's planning to set anything on fire right now, but if she gets into the Rocket, there might be some documents that need destroying.

She buys more lilies, too, with a twenty-florin note she found in her wallet, and the florist smiles at her in recognition.

"How did it go last time?" she asks, as she rings up her purchase.

"Okay," replies Emilia. "I figured if it worked once …"

"Fair enough," says the florist. "Are you local? I haven't seen you round here except that one time."

"Ah," she says. "No, I live in Saffron. Just visiting a friend."

"Sure. That's thirteen florins, then."

 _SAM?_ asks Nadia, as the door shuts behind them.

"Sam," confirms Emilia. "I mean, we might die."

Nadia considers this.

 _ATTEMPT_ , she says.

"Try not to die? Yeah, well, I'll do my best."

 _ENOUGH_ , pronounces Nadia, meaning that this is good enough for her, and settles back down on her shoulder.

Emilia almost laughs. Some quirks of natu psychology you get used to, but some stay weird forever. Nadia's blasé approach to being murdered is one of them.

She pushes open the gate and makes her way down the path between the headstones. There she is: SAMANTHA VILLIERS. No trace of the lilies from earlier. Someone must have cleaned up the mess, if the rain didn't do it before they got a chance.

"Hey, Sam." It feels weird to talk to her in the sunshine. Somehow Emilia feels like talking to the dead makes more sense in the rain. "I brought some more flowers." She puts them down in front of the stone. "I know I said I'd come more often, but I'm about to do something that might mean this is the last time. You know I said I was stuck? Well, I figured out what to do. And what I should do, as it turns out, is break into the Rocket Casino in search of a rogue government agency hiding out behind the slots."

She pauses, considering her next words. Somewhere, birds are singing, although Emilia can't see any of them.

"So on the one hand, I'm doing what you always said I should. I'm making a stand. On the other, I guess I'm doing exactly what you always tried to stop me doing: I'm risking my neck. I think it's for a good cause, but you know." She sighs. "I don't think I'm asking for your blessing. I don't actually think you're still around to give it; I think I'm doing this for my benefit, not yours. Actually, I think I should have figured out to grieve eight years ago and moved on by now instead of bottling it until … until Effie, but, well, I guess I'm not saying anything new there."

She shakes her head. You're starting to ramble, she tells herself. Keep it together. What are the salient details here?

"Speaking of Effie," she says, fighting the reluctance in her throat, "she … well, it happened. She's gone. So, just me and Nadia now." A long pause, while she wrestles her voice back under control. "I just thought you should know," she says, in the end. "You two always got on so well. And … and."

She waits a long time, trying to think of the words she could put after that _and_ , and then in the end she just sighs again.

"You know," she says. "You always knew better than me, anyway."

Emilia rests her hand on the gravestone, the way she did the last time she was here.

"I'll see you soon, Sam," she promises. "One way or another. But for now … for now, there's something I wanted to say last time and didn't." She takes a breath, tells herself that if she chickens out now she might never get another chance. "I love you," she says. "You were my best friend. I think you knew that, even if I didn't. I'm sorry it took me so long."

For a long moment she can't move, pinned beneath the weight of finally saying it, and then she straightens up, says goodbye, and turns to leave. Out through the gates, back down the street.

 _?_ , asks Nadia.

"Yeah," agrees Emilia. "Pretty much."

* * *

After Emilia leaves, Cass calls up her girlfriend and then makes her own exit with Ringo, promising to be back soon. Artemis tells her to take her time, as long as she's back before the meeting, and she smiles gratefully in a way that makes both of them feel a little better.

Which leaves Artemis alone in the Centre for a few hours. Not ideal, but she survives; she's got Brauron, who is awake again and very insistent that she be both fed and entertained _right now_ , and she's got her phone, so in a sense she's got Chelle too. Messages go back and forth, updates on Brauron and on Cinnabar Island, where Chelle still thinks she is, and by the time her phone alarm goes off to tell her to go meet Cass and Emilia downstairs she feels more or less level.

"Hey," says Cass, when she sees her. She looks much better than she did, Artemis notes. There's a brightness in her eyes that has been missing since they first decided to go after Sovereign. "How are you doing?"

"I'm okay. Brauron too." She hisses at the sound of her name and Artemis pats her head absently. "You?"

"Me? Yeah. Yeah, I'm good." Cass smiles. "Kaylee says hi."

"Hi, Kaylee," says Artemis, and smiles back.

A moment later, Emilia turns up, poking at her phone.

"Hi," she says. "Have you seen? Giovanni's made a statement."

"What's he saying?"

"Denying everything. Talking about the League investigation and my suspension." She shakes her head. "It doesn't hold together, but I'm not sure it has to. Depends what he's trying to do. I suspect he's playing for time until his plan comes through, but I can't be sure."

"What plan?" asks Cass, and Emilia shrugs.

"He wants control of breach to do _something_ ," she says. "Given ROCKETS' politics, I don't think it's universal basic income." She sighs and gestures at the doors. "Come on. I have a cab waiting outside."

It's a quick ride out to Leeside, where the bus dropped them earlier that day; when they get out, Emilia tells the driver to wait, and Artemis feels vaguely embarrassed in that way you do at the evidence of other people's wealth. Left to herself, she wouldn't have taken a cab at all. From here, they make their way down the darkened trail by the light of Cass' torch, and soon enough they hear that unmistakeable voice.

 _Put out your light_.

Emilia starts; Cass obliges. A moment later, staring intently through the sudden blackness, Artemis makes out a tall, dim figure.

 _Santangelo_ , says Sovereign. Their eyes catch some light that Artemis doesn't see, or perhaps they cast their own inner light, and they flash for a moment with that distinctive silvery sheen. _You are brave to come seeking me_.

"I made my mistakes," she replies. Her voice is steady and unwavering. "I'll answer for them eventually."

 _You certainly will_. Something moves: Sovereign's tail, maybe, switching back and forth like a cat's. _Quiet, little bird. I am not here to harm you_.

Artemis can't feel anything, but then, she supposes she isn't as sensitive to these things as Sovereign. At any rate, Nadia seems to calm herself readily enough.

 _Better_ , says Sovereign. _Well? You wanted to meet me. I have answered_.

They have. They have, despite everything – despite the fact that they arrived with their ball and Emilia. It takes a special sort of bravery to face a meeting like that, for someone with Sovereign's history.

"Yeah," says Artemis. "We have … well, we've kind of got a plan."

 _With which you need my help_.

"Yeah." She glances at where Emilia is, somewhere off to her right. "It's, um, well. We think we know where Giovanni's operation is based."

 _You want me to assault it_. Sovereign's eyes flash again; Brauron grips Artemis harder, flares her fins defiantly. _I believe we have discussed my disinterest in being used as an instrument before._

"Uh, um, yeah, but―"

 _But I appreciate that you lack the capacity to attack Giovanni yourself. And … and I have to admit, I relish the thought of getting my hands on the bastard._ A low growl, some of that base feline aggression breaking loose in their throat. _Where is his base of operations?_

"Celadon. Giovanni owns a few casinos, but like, the big one's in Celadon, and it's where he spends all his time …"

 _I see. And your plan for attacking it is what, exactly?_

"With you on our side," says Emilia, "more or less brute force."

Sovereign snorts. It sounds almost like laughter.

 _You know my tastes_ , they reply. _And what? You would have me destroy it all?_

"Not just that. I'd like you to get me in there." Artemis looks at her sharply: this isn't anything they've discussed previously. "Giovanni has to be stopped, but more than that, all his data has to be destroyed, all his people incapacitated. Everything needs to be photographed. I don't want _anyone_ getting away with this, or it's just going to happen again."

 _My, how times have changed,_ says Sovereign archly. _You? Ripping the heart from the League's darling?_

"I'm not League," says Emilia simply. "I'm Kantan."

"Hmph," says Sovereign. _That might be the first sensible thing those equivocating lips of yours ever spoke._

They sound like they want to push her, like they're trying to make her snap, but Emilia holds.

"Yes," she says. "Probably."

For a moment, Sovereign doesn't answer. Then:

 _You are going to want my ball, aren't you?_

"Yes." Emilia hesitates. "I'd understand if you don't trust me with it, but … if it's you and me going in there, then that's how it has to be. I can get you through the city that way."

"Wait a minute," says Cass. "Just you two? What about us?"

Emilia sighs.

"I can deal with the evidence," she says. "And you, Sovereign, you can deal with the security."

 _With absolute certainty_.

"So that's it," says Emilia. "That's all we need."

"But …" It's too dark to see Cass without the torch, but Artemis knows what she must look like: glaring, feet planted firmly as if she anticipates being dragged bodily away. That's Cass, all right. "But we – Artie, you know what I mean, right? We can't just back out now, after – after everything we've done …"

Artemis wishes Cass hadn't asked. She sees where Emilia's coming from, she really does; this is her solving a problem, just like when she made the spire disappear. (Just like when she lied about Cinnabar.) Why let two kids and their pokémon risk their lives when the professionals are here to take their place? Especially since they've already risked so much, and made such narrow escapes.

But – well, Cass has a point. It _is_ their fight now. Even if it's not a fight they can win. She just isn't sure whether that's more important than their safety. What's an idea even worth, anyway, when you compare it to a life?

"I know," she says, in the end. "I know, I … I know."

The night wells up into the silence, wind and bird calls and the distant croak of a golduck on the prowl, and then at last Emilia speaks.

"I stood by while you went to the single most dangerous place in Kanto," she says. "You shouldn't have had to do that. Not if the system had worked. And you shouldn't have to do something like that again. And, well, all that aside – I don't want you to get shot. Does that sound fair?"

It does. Artemis can see where she's coming from, and she's _probably_ not lying about this, she _probably_ really does care enough to want them to be safe. And yet …

"I mean, I guess." Cass sighs. "I just don't really want to sit around in the Centre while you two go off to smash Giovanni, is all."

"Artemis?"

It's a wrench. It is. But Emilia is right, no matter how much Artemis wants to see this through to the end. She's not strong enough. Brauron's not strong enough, Cass is not strong enough, Ringo's not strong enough. Maybe Nadia isn't either, but Emilia's definitely got experience on them and they need her in there to make sure things go down right. Cass and Artemis are only going to be a drain on Sovereign's attention.

"Yeah," she says. "Yeah, I mean I get it. Not wanting to sit around, I mean. And I don't want to get shot either." She shrugs. "I don't like it, same as you, Cass, but I get it. I think we've probably done everything we can."

 _There is strength in wisdom_ , says Sovereign. Everything sounds so portentous in that voice, Artemis thinks. They probably don't mean it, but it does. _Can we return to the matter at hand?_

"Sure," says Artemis. "Sorry. Um. Go ahead."

 _Good._ The eyes flash again. _Santangelo. You will want my ball, to take me to this casino. You must also know that I am not going to surrender it to_ you _, of all people, lightly._

"That's fair," replies Emilia. "What do you need from me to convince you that I won't betray your trust?"

 _Nothing more than I already have. Cass and Artemis think you are trustworthy; I believe them. I simply want you to know the significance of what I am about to do. And, of course, that I will cut you in half with an axe if you do anything with that ball that I have not agreed to_.

"Oh." Even Emilia is a little thrown by that, it seems. Artemis isn't sure how effective an axe made out of a stop sign is, exactly, but in Sovereign's hand pretty much anything is probably a deadly weapon. "I … see. You have my word, for what it's worth."

 _Not much._ Sovereign sniffs. _But it will do. I will need access to your eyes and ears while I am imprisoned._

"Done," says Emilia. "I have experience with telepathy; I'll give you full access."

 _You couldn't stop me taking it if you tried._ The shadow moves a little. _Are we done here? Because if we are, I will need to start moving. I can be outside Celadon by dawn, if I leave now_.

"I think so," replies Emilia. "Do you know Clayfields?"

 _The easternmost suburb_.

"Yeah. I'll meet you there. I assume you can trace me?"

 _Of course_. Artemis senses Sovereign's attention shifting from Emilia to her. _You may give her the ball_ , they say. _I will see you in Celadon_.

She sees no movement, but after a few moments, she becomes aware that the shape she thought was Sovereign is no longer present. Cass notices at about the same time, and turns the torch back in with some relief.

The three of them look at each other, at worried faces made pale and weird by the flat glare of the artificial light.

"We're still coming to Celadon," insists Artemis, when nobody else speaks.

"Yeah," says Cass. "Definitely."

"I wasn't going to stop you," says Emilia. "Come on. Let's get back to the cab. You can pack up at the Centre and we'll get straight down to Celadon."

They go. Nobody says anything else.

At this point, Artemis supposes, there really isn't a lot left to talk about.

* * *

Night train: yellow light, black windows populated by washed-out reflections. Commuter in one corner, watching Netflix on his tablet. A couple of teenage kids splitting a set of earbuds between them, a nidorina sprawled lazily across their laps. Guy with a recent-looking head injury, talking unsubtly with his girlfriend about selling a stolen bike. A cross-section of late night Kanto, cut loose from reality to barrel on through the dark.

It's been a long time since Artemis rode a train at night. She doesn't do a lot of train journeys at all, really; she's more of a bus-goer, staying mainly within Pewter as she does. She stays quiet, watches Cass and Emilia as they relax into the space with the assuredness of seasoned travellers. How many journeys have they made, she wonders. Emilia – probably more than she can count, back and forth and round and round all across Greater Tohjo. And Cass: Cerulean to Silverleaf and back, three times a year for the past eight years. She imagines Cass at eleven with a trunk and a parent in tow, and then again at fifteen, travelling alone. What colour would her hair have been? She glances at her and sees dark roots beneath the pink.

Cass sees her looking and smiles at her.

"You okay?" she asks.

"Yeah," says Artemis. She seems to be standing upside down on the ceiling, watching her body respond by rote. Something about this light makes the world seem weird. "Yeah, I'm good."

The train rattles on. She could check her phone, see how the ROCKETS scandal's unfolding. She could message Chelle again. It's late but she's probably still up, unless she has work tomorrow. Maybe even if she does.

It feels like she should do _something_ , should mark the fact that everything is now rushing headlong towards a conclusion, but she doesn't do anything at all.

* * *

When they arrive at the Pokémon Centre, they split up. Emilia will be staying elsewhere at whatever cheap hotel she can find; Cass and Artemis are to stay put right here until she comes back. Nobody is particularly happy with this arrangement, but everybody agrees that this is how it has to be.

"So I guess I'll see you tomorrow," says Emilia, in the pool of lamplight outside the Centre doors. "By then, breach should be all over."

Breach, over. God, if only. No more monsters, no spires or blurred men, no broken scyther or League spooks or conspiracy theorists. Just – one summer, two kids, two pokémon. Time for a trainer journey again. And if everything goes right, that might happen tomorrow.

Maybe, anyway. Things could still go wrong; Giovanni might have a way to beat Sovereign, impossible as it seems. And even if he doesn't, Artemis will probably be called on to testify, when the investigation happens. God only knows how that will work out with her parents, but that's a problem for another day.

"Yeah," says Artemis, trying to stay positive. "All over."

The three of them stand there for a while in the warm summer night, looking for words that refuse to be found. Then Emilia sighs and reaches into her bag.

"My partner," she says, taking out something wrapped in tissue paper. "She … my partner is a – was a vileplume. She … she's dead. It was very recent. And I know this is sudden, but … when a vileplume dies, it leaves behind fruit. That's where oddish come from. I don't want to take the fruit with me in case it … what I'm trying to say is – would you …?"

"Of course," says Artemis, not wanting to prolong this any further. It's painful to see anyone in that state, but it feels worse when it's someone normally so collected. "Sure. You can, um, you can just pick it up when you get back."

She doesn't say _if_. She gets that right, at least.

"Thank you." Emilia hesitates, then hands over the fruit. For some reason Artemis is expecting it to be heavy, but it isn't; it's more or less just a small mango. "Thank you," Emilia says again. "I know I don't need to tell you, but please be careful with it."

"Sure." Brauron leans out from her chest to sniff at it, and Artemis takes it out of her reach. "We'll be careful," she says. "I promise. And I'm – I'm really sorry for your loss."

"Yeah," says Cass. "Sorry."

Emilia smiles. It isn't a very happy smile, but it is at least a smile.

"Thank you," she says. "Now. I should probably find somewhere to get some sleep." She keeps looking at the fruit. "So. Yes. I'll see you … on the other side, I suppose."

Her face closes up again, and Artemis realises that she has been looking at something normally hidden away deep inside her. Something incontrovertibly real.

It feels mean to even think it, but she's kind of glad. She can trust in this, if nothing else.

"See you on the other side," says Cass. "And good luck. I mean I think you'll be fine with Sovereign, but … good luck."

"Thank you," says Emilia. "Goodnight."

She turns and walks away, turning her head to listen to something Nadia is saying. Cass and Artemis watch her go until she disappears into the night, and then look at one another.

"I guess that's it," says Cass. "We did it. Like everything we could."

"Yeah," says Artemis. "I guess we did."

They stand there for a few moments longer, unable to break free from the strangeness of the moment, and then Ringo nips at Cass' ear and it's just a summer night again.

"C'mon, then, buster," says Cass, pushing Ringo's beak away. "Let's go in and get you fed." She glances at Artemis. "Coming?"

"Sure," says Artemis, although part of her feels like she won't, like she might just stay out here all night and evaporate with the dawn. "Sure, let's go."

* * *

The Rocket is open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Step inside, and time ceases to exist; the only light is from the chandeliers and the lamps, and the only concession to the existence of the natural world are the tall potted plants against the walls. Marble floors, ornate vases, a long and incredibly well-stocked bar. Dealers with calm faces and clever fingers. If you've been to a casino, you've seen it before.

Emilia hasn't been to a casino, as it happens, but there isn't time to take in the details. About half an hour after dawn, she has a cab drop her off outside, in the shadow of its overwrought façade, and then as she walks up to the bouncers she throws the ball and unleashes Sovereign.

At this point, things start to happen rather quickly.

The bouncers immediately step in with their own pokémon, two machamp that fling themselves at Sovereign with the usual reckless abandon; Sovereign catches the first as easily as if it were a child and Emilia sees the sudden panic in its eyes as they smash it bodily into the second and send both into the wall.

 _Stay back, Santangelo_ , they say, leaping forward, whacking the two bouncers' heads together and bounding over them as they fall. _This will be rough_.

They do not wait for the automatic doors to open, bursting straight through instead in a shower of reinforced glass; alarms go off, patrons look up, and Sovereign draws themself up to their full height as every pair of eyes in the house turns to them.

 _Where is Giovanni?_ they ask. More people are hurrying towards them from the corners of the room, reaching into jackets for poké balls or pistols. Hanging back in the doorway, Emilia sees kangaskhan, scizor, rhydon, popping into existence in between the tables. Men and women in black yell into radios over the screeching of the alarms; patrons rush for the emergency exits; the pokémon surge forward, not recognising what it is they face, and Emilia watches as Sovereign gets to work.

There's a beauty to their movements, even brutal as they are. One impossible leap forwards, twenty or thirty feet, and Sovereign collides with the scizor hard enough to arrest its momentum and knock it to the ground; they stamp once, twice, metal shell squealing and deforming underneath them, then turn to deliver a swinging punch to the kangaskhan's jaw. Ripples of psychic energy radiate from the point of impact and the huge pokémon drops like a brick, turning a roulette table into matchsticks. The rhydon slows, alarmed, and its hesitation is its undoing; Sovereign turns again, leans back on their tail like a kangaroo and kicks with both legs, paws hitting it in the chest and smashing through its stone armour like pile drivers. The rhydon wheezes, Sovereign extricates themself, and with three sharp blows to the sides of their opponent's head leaves it motionless on the floor.

 _Where is Giovanni?_ Sovereign repeats, looking out over the wreckage at the guards, taking cover behind whatever they can find. Someone reaches up and fires at it and Emilia shouts something wordless in her alarm – guns aren't legal in Kanto, although she knows well enough that anyone can get anything with enough money – but the bullet hits an invisible wall halfway across the room and sticks there. They have a barrier up, Emilia realises. They were doing all that and they _still_ had a barrier up.

She did know how tough they were. She's seen it before, even, on video. But it's something else to see them in full flow.

Thank god she told them not to bring their axe.

 _Where is Giovanni?_ asks Sovereign, and when nobody answers they pounce.

The guards' cover is useless: Sovereign hits the roulette table behind which the gunman is crouching and ploughs straight through it as if it were made of china. They stamp on his gun hand with a crunch that makes Emilia's stomach turn and cut off his scream with another blow to the head that she hopes to God was a knockout and not a kill.

 _WHERE IS GIOVANNI?_ roars Sovereign, so loud that Emilia can _see_ it, can see the tremor in the air as the thoughts leave their head, and when again nobody answers they pounce again, and again, and then before Emilia can even see how it happened the last two guards are running for a door in the back wall; they fall suddenly, and only once they're on the ground does Emilia realise that Sovereign has thrown something at them.

The alarm keeps ringing over the sudden stillness. The patrons and the dealers are long gone, hidden in the bathrooms or fled out through the side exits. At least it's a weekday morning. Not many people around to get hurt, although Sovereign has contained the violence quite well.

They turn to face her over the broken tables and fallen pokémon.

 _With me_ , they command. _There will be more to follow, and I expect the League and the police will respond soon._

Emilia can already hear sirens in the distance. She nods, unable for the moment to find her voice, and hurries after them as they stalk towards the door the guards were aiming for.

 _BIGBIGBIG_ , chatters Nadia nervously, jittering on her shoulder, and Emilia thinks back:

 _Yeah, sweetie, I know. I kno_ ―

"Now!" someone yells, and the door bursts off its hinges in a billowing cloud of dust and sand; Sovereign raises a hand and the door flies harmlessly overhead, but there's something else there, something big that barrels through the door and part of the surrounding wall and comes at them with a roar―

―and cuts straight through their barrier in a flash of black light, hand meeting chest and batting Sovereign halfway across the room.

The pokémon stamps and roars, its thick tail crushing the end of bar with a misdirected swing. Emilia stares. It's a tyranitar. Giovanni has a bloody _tyranitar_ here, a tonne of stone and fury in one convenient saurian package, and probably the only thing in Kanto short of a legendary that has a shot at taking down Sovereign. She stands there, still staring, as the big dinosaur lowers its head―

 _MOVE!_ shrieks Nadia, plucking at her nerves, making her feet twitch, and Emilia dives out of the way towards the wreckage of the casino floor as the tyranitar charges past towards Sovereign. They have recovered by now, leap forward to meet it in a burst of psychic energy, but the tyranitar doesn't stop, blows sand glowing black with dark-type energy from the vents in its flanks and fills the room with a biting fog that stops Sovereign in their tracks. They fall out of the air, psionics useless, and scramble to their feet as the tyranitar advances, claws held back and ready to slash.

"Oh fuck," breathes Emilia, picking herself up, backing off towards the slot machines. "Was he expecting―? I mean how the hell does he have―?"

More guards are coming through the door now, taking up positions behind the bar. They have guns, Emilia sees. Guns, and in the darkstorm Sovereign's barriers won't stop the bullets.

 _FURRET FURRET FURRET_ , cries Nadia. _BACK!_

Emilia keeps backing off, past the first row of slots, and the tyranitar closes to engage with Sovereign. Its hands are almost as big as their head; she watches it swing and Sovereign stagger backwards, blood matting their fur.

 _Yes_ , they crow, exultant. _Yes, you are worthy. Face me, then! I am Sovereign!_

They roar, long and loud as a lion, and fling themself back at the tyranitar, hammering its face and neck with fists that split again at the knuckles with every blow; it growls and thrusts them away with one shoulder, slamming them against one of the columns that flank the entrance. The Rocket guards see their opening and fire, a fusillade of bullets whirring across the room, but the tyranitar rushes forward at its opponent and most of the shots impact harmlessly on its armoured back. It crushes Sovereign against the wall with one stony arm and Emilia winces, looking away―

A crash: she looks back and sees that somehow Sovereign has coiled themself against the wall and leaped at the tyranitar's head hard enough to knock it over. The tyranitar thrashes in the rising dust, trying to roll into a position where it can push itself back up, but it is too heavy and spiny to easily turn and now that they have the advantage Sovereign is relentless, crouched on its chest and laying into its head with bloody fists.

 _I am Sovereign!_ they howl. _In name and deed!_

The tyranitar shakes its head beneath the blows and fires a dark pulse from its vents that bleaches Sovereign's fur where it touches, but they refuse to be dislodged, and now one of the tyranitar's spines is broken, Emilia sees, and its eyes are rolling madly and maybe, maybe they've got this but the guards are leaning over the counter for another volley―

"Sovereign!" she yells. "The guards!"

They look up just as they fire, and leap away as the bullets whine through the space where they were crouching. Three tear into their leg, splashing red across their fur, and Sovereign falls heavily behind a blackjack table.

 _You are in getting in the way of my fight_ , they growl, seizing the table's edge and dragging themself back up onto their feet. _Wait your turn._

They clench their fist and suddenly freeze; a ripple runs through them the way it did through the Cinnabar breach entity, and then for a second time seems to reverse around them, bullets flying back out of their wounds and the splits in their knuckles closing up. Then, as quickly as it begun, the moment passes, and Sovereign is, impossibly, whole again.

 _I may not like it, but I am breach_ , they snarl. _And that dark dust is settling_.

The tyranitar struggles to its feet, but it's too late: Sovereign jumps across the room again in another of those telekinetic leaps, and smashes clean through the bar in a shower of splinters and broken glass. From behind the slots, Emilia can't see what they do, exactly, but she hears the thumps and cries, and imagines that probably the gunmen aren't an issue any more.

 _Now for you, bastard lizard_ , hisses Sovereign, and shoots back into view, directly into the tyranitar's midriff. Its plates crack and it bellows in pain, sand spurting uncontrollably from its vents; Sovereign snarls and wraps their arms around it, joints popping with blue flashes of psychic energy, and as Emilia stares they strain and heave and they're actually doing it, she realises, they are lifting the huge dinosaur clear off the floor as it roars and writhes in a panic―

 _Back to your masters_ , Sovereign snaps, and hurls it back in the direction of the door. It falls far short, slamming into the floor just a yard or so away in a shower of marble chips, but Emilia is staggered that they threw it at all. She watches open-mouthed as the tyranitar blinks and waves its arms feebly, as astonished as she is, until Sovereign draws their foot up high and stamps one last time on its face.

It stops moving. Sovereign stands over it for a moment, breathing hard and staring at it as if daring it to get up again, and then they turn to Emilia.

 _I detect police outside_ , they say. _Waiting for reinforcements, I think. We should go now, before they come in_.

"Uh," says Emilia, still looking at the tyranitar. "Yes. Yes, of course. We should … do that."

 _Yes._ Sovereign swishes their tail impatiently. _Well? Are you coming?_

"Yes. Yes, I'm – I'm definitely coming."

She gets up from behind the slot machine and picks her way through the wrecked tables and unconscious bodies towards Sovereign and the tyranitar. It's not the first time she's seen this kind of carnage; nor is it the worst she's seen. But normally she just arrives for the aftermath, and there is something very different, she is discovering, about watching it all take place.

A tyranitar. Sovereign beat down a tyranitar with nothing but their bare fists. They didn't even use moves. They got hit in the chest with a tonne of dark-type stone, smashed into a wall, _shot_ , and they just got back up again and kicked the crap out of it. Of a tyranitar. Sovereign―

 _ROUND_ , says Nadia cautiously, warning her that her thoughts are starting to go in circles, and Emilia nods and tries to pull herself together.

"Right," she mutters, trying not to step on a fallen guard. "Right, right."

 _Come on_ , says Sovereign, looking past her, back towards the door. _They're here_.

Someone's yelling about this being the police. Emilia hurries on without looking back. She is surprised to realise that she isn't afraid of the cops at all now. She's much more afraid of what Sovereign will do to them if they catch up.

* * *

Artemis gives up on trying to sleep a little before dawn. It feels like she's spent most of the night awake anyway, tossing and turning and worrying about what happens next, and by then it seems clear that she isn't going to get any rest tonight. She fixes up her face and heads downstairs, as in Lavender, to watch the news.

Which, as it happens, is big. Emilia's leak is still being repeated, the newscaster running over the facts again and again; there's a clip they keep playing of someone thrusting a microphone into Lorelei's face as she hurries from the Indigo Palace to her car, asking her aggressively why the League was running this kind of operation in the first place. She says she has no comment at this time and slams the car door behind her.

Both police and League agents are after Emilia, it seems, but Artemis takes heart from the newscaster's assertion that her whereabouts are currently unknown. Even if they do find her, she thinks, she's probably picked up Sovereign by now. Good luck to anyone trying to arrest her then.

The news loops, once and then twice. Outside, light climbs over the rooftops and filters through the blinds. Little by little, morning comes, and with it comes Cass.

"Hey," she says, walking in with Ringo. "Couldn't sleep, huh?" Artemis shakes her head. "Me either." She sighs. "Tea?"

"Yes, please."

She goes off to the table in the corner and fills the kettle. There's something comforting about listening to it boil, Artemis thinks. Sounds like home.

 _BREAKING_ , flashes the TV screen, and she sits up sharply, kettle forgotten.

"Cass," she says. "Cass, look."

A shot of the Rocket, a huge, tasteless building with an overly ornate faux-classical façade; the front doors are broken and paramedics are carrying people away from the doors on stretches while cops with riot shields and arcanine mass in the street near the entrance. Celadon's Gym Leader, Erika, is standing a little way off with a jumpluff roosting on each shoulder, talking to her trainers and their grass-types.

"An unknown assailant has attacked the Rocket Casino," the newscaster is saying. "Witnesses describe a lone black woman working with an unidentified species of pokémon, who breached the front entrance half an hour ago and defeated the security contingent within seconds. Celadon Police are working with Gym trainers to coordinate an assault."

Erika seems to notice the camera and hurries on over, looking annoyed.

"Hey," she says. "You can't film this, we're in the middle of―"

The screen goes black for a second, then returns to the newsroom.

"Our apologies for the interruption," says the newscaster. "We have audio with Sonia Mallory, our reporter at the scene. Sonia, is there any possible connection between this and yesterday's claims about Dioli's actions?"

It's too early to tell, as it turns out; this is where things start getting repetitive again. Cass pours out the water and sits down next to Artemis.

"Hope she's doing okay," she says. "And, uh, Sovereign too, but I think they can probably handle themself."

"Yeah." Artemis bites her lip. "I mean, they said they took out all the guards."

"Yeah. That sounds good, and obviously it's got the cops scared, so I guess they've got a bit of time before they go in to stop them."

They sit there for a while, watching the newscaster repeat herself. Cass gets the tea and coffee, and they drink in silence. Ringo pecks at some mealworms from Cass' palm; Brauron licks ash pellets from Artemis'.

"I'm guessing you feel like shit too," says Cass.

"Yeah," replies Artemis. "I do."

She thinks she might have a headache. Maybe it's the not sleeping; maybe it's just that awful, crushing feeling of impotence pressing down on her.

"The police are currently pushing in," says the newscaster. "We're still unable to get you footage, but we'll keep you appraised of all future developments …"

"Ugh." Cass rests her head in one hand, leaning forward over her lap. "I hate this."

"Yeah."

"It wouldn't be so bad if we could just … I don't even know, actually." She inspects the inside of her mug. "You want any more?"

"No, I'm okay. Think I should have some water or something, really. Got a headache."

"Yeah, me too, actually. Guess it's the stress."

Cass takes both their mugs and fills them with water. They both drain them fast, but Artemis' head only gets worse, the vice of pain tightening around her temples. There's something ominous about that. Something like …

"Wait," says Cass suddenly. "Wait, I smell – if you have a headache and you smell burning, isn't that …?"

They stare at one another. Artemis can smell it too now, a coarse acrid tang like burning electronics.

"If I was Giovanni," says Cass. "And like Sovereign turned up on my doorstep …"

"Then you'd use everything you had." Artemis stands up, sharply enough to make Brauron dig her claws in and hiss in disapproval. She moves to the window and looks out through the dawn light, but there's nothing there, no blocks of static or spires of light. "But like I'm irradiated," she says. "He triggers breach, it spawns near me. Does he know I'm in town?"

"Maybe he's figured out you're working with Emilia?"

"Maybe." Artemis fidgets. Something is going on here, she's sure of it, but it's so hard to think through this headache. Does she even have all the pieces she needs to work it out right now? Difficult to say. "I think – I don't think he's trying to attack Sovereign."

"No?"

"No." Artemis keeps looking out at the street. It's quiet; this early, there isn't anyone around near the Centre. Definitely nothing out of the ordinary here. "I don't know. I just feel like – never mind. Dunno what I'm talking about."

She turns away from the window, and then freezes as the light streaming past her suddenly pulses green.

"Wait, what the―?" Cass leaps out of her seat, and the two of them press up against the window to see the houses across the street gone, a rippling wall of olive light filling the centre of the street. "What the hell is that?"

"I don't know!" cries Artemis, gripping the windowsill so hard she feels she might break her fingers. "I don't know, I – it's just a thing!"

The words are all nonsense, jumbled by her scrambled thoughts; there is blood coming from her eyes and she barely even notices, too caught up in the frenetic pounding of her heart. She stares and stares, bleeding as Brauron croaks and climbs up to press herself against her cheek, and then the big black car pulls up and Giovanni and crew climb out and she knows what's going to happen before they do it but she can't do a thing about it, just watches as the five of them hurry on into the light and disappear.

"Where are they going?" asks Cass. "Is that – are they escaping?"

"I don't know. I don't know!"

They were carrying something. What was it? Hard to say, but Giovanni had something in his arms, and at least some of the others had stuff too. Machinery, Artemis thinks. Machinery, being taken into – into wherever it is the light goes. Into breach.

She doesn't know what this means, exactly, but she doesn't need to. She knows it's bad, knows that it might be what he's looking for to complete his control over breach, knows, above all, that Sovereign is on the other side of town, completely incapable of stopping him.

"I … shit," she says. "I have to go in there."

"What? Are you serious? We don't even know what that _is_ , let alone―"

"I have to," insists Artemis. "I can't let him do … whatever it is."

"How are you even going to stop him?" Cass demands to know. "He's a Gym Leader! And he has god only knows what horrible breach monsters with him. And – and – and hell, I guess I'm going with you."

"Oh, you don't have to," begins Artemis, automatic, hateful, but Cass will not let her finish.

"Artie. I'm coming. You too, right Ringo?" He screeches. "See?" Cass looks at her, defiant. "You can't ditch us that easily. And, uh … confession: one of the people who went in there with him was my aunt. I figure it's about time me and her had a serious discussion about some things, y'know?"

Artemis wants to say no, to forbid it. She wants to save her. Cass has already followed her further than anyone should have done; she shouldn't follow her here, to the point where her luck will probably run out and she will end up dead or captive or worse.

But she doesn't have that authority, and anyway Cass has as much claim to this as her; she's part of this too, irradiated enough by this point to get the headaches, if not the bleeding. And, well. Honestly, she could use all the help she can get.

"Okay," she says, wiping blood from her eyes. "What about you, kiddo?"

Brauron rears on her shoulder and flares her fins, ready to fight.

"All right then," she says. "Let's go, I guess."

"You said it."

They glance out through the window, at the light burning brightly in the street. Dawn seems to have vanished; the pavement is tinged with green now, as if the colours are seeping out of the wall and into the fabric of the world. Someone in the lobby is on the phone, gabbling about a weird light that just ate some people.

They go together out of the lounge, through the lobby and into the street. From here they can see people staring out of windows, phones up against their ears or held up to record the weirdness outside. For a long moment they stand there, staring, their pokémon silent and tense, the light blazing like a funeral pyre before them.

Cass' hand brushes Artemis' as if by accident, but it is not an accident, and Artemis takes hold of it in her own. They breathe in, and then hand in hand they walk into the light and out of the world.


	20. 14: Arbitrary Execution

**14: ARBITRARY EXECUTION**

Beyond the light is a city – or at least all the parts that make up a city, if not in the right order. There are buildings, and streets and power lines and cars, all jumbled together like the view through a kaleidoscope. Artemis finds her feet on the side of what looks like the wall of the Pokémon Centre, fragments of road rising at oblique angles up into the sky before her; slices of building are piled up on either side, the end of the old kiln turned upside-down on top of a church tower sandwiched between half a block of terraced houses and a set of balconies from which grow the trees of the Celadon Public Gardens.

"What the hell …?" breathes Cass, gripping her hand tight. "This is … what is it, like Dark Celadon?"

"I don't know," whispers Artemis. It's hard to raise her voice in the face of all this impossibility. Way above her, a flight of stairs waltzes across the sky, revolving slowly. There's no sun up there, no clouds, just a chill grey void. She isn't even sure if there's any air; her lungs feel sore and somehow empty. But she hasn't died. So there's that.

A bus goes by on one of the pieces of road, emerging from what passes for the ground and slowly fading away when it reaches the end. Shrieking pixellated things that are in no way birds flutter along in its wake.

There might have been ghost people looking out of its windows, but if there were at least they're gone now.

"Why would he come here?" asks Cass. "Why would _anyone_ ever come here?"

"I don't know. I don't know." Keep calm, Artie. You have a mission, scary as this place is. "Can you see him?"

"No. Ringo? You got good eyes. Anything?"

If there is, he isn't talking about it. Ringo has fluffed out his feathers and hunkered down on Cass' shoulder, his usual bravado gone. Brauron isn't looking so good either, clinging to Artemis so tight her claws have pierced her dress. This place is not somewhere they want to be.

Artemis doesn't blame them. She wouldn't be here herself, if she didn't have to.

"Okay," she says. "Should we look?"

"Yeah," says Cass. "Guess we should."

Neither of them move.

"All right," says Artemis. "Go."

They make their way across the side of the Pokémon Centre, avoiding the doors and windows. Artemis finds the courage to sneak a glance at one of them, and sees behind the glass what looks like an aerial view of the suburbs. After that, she keeps her eyes forward. The thought that there might just be a thin layer of bricks between her and a three-hundred foot drop is not comforting in the slightest.

At the end, the Centre merges with an overpass that climbs over the shapeless mass of a supermarket, its surface mazed with miniature roads. They walk up and over, and come down on the other side on, for once, actual pavement. The buildings on either side are tilted at bizarre angles, merging into one another like tiers on a melting cake, but it looks a little more like a street than where they came from, at least. From where they stand, the road sweeps up a long slope towards a huge pillar of office blocks mashed together into something like a termite mound, and there, at the pillar's base, are figures.

Artemis stares. Are they ghost people? They are, aren't they? Ghost people, and any minute now they'll cross the distance in that unnatural way they do and be here―

"I think we found them," says Cass, squinting. "They look human, anyway. And I'm willing to bet there aren't any other humans here."

"O-oh." Artemis forces herself to breathe. Not ghost people. Real people. Possibly the only thing that would actually be _worse_ , given the circumstances. "Yeah, I suppose so."

"Right." Cass pauses. "So, uh, what's the plan, exactly?"

"I don't have one."

"That's … what I thought, I guess." Cass squeezes her hand. "Just go after them and do what we can?"

Artemis squeezes back.

"Yeah," she says, unable to believe that she is agreeing to this. "I think we might be out of other options."

They let go of each other's hands, and begin to run. They get maybe twenty feet before someone notices.

"Well!" cries one of the figures, in a familiar voice. "It looks like we have company!"

The others turn, and now that they're a little closer Artemis thinks she can make out details: Giovanni, his right arm strangely bulky; a woman with short hair and severe features, holding some kind of engine; three men in dark suits whose job description probably goes something like _big, broad, silent_. No pokémon, but those squat things in the men's hands have to be guns. Artemis has never seen one before, but there isn't a lot of room for interpretation here.

She doesn't stop. All that hiking has paid off, it seems, and she barely slows as the slope gets steeper up towards Giovanni and his agents.

"I believe we have met before," Giovanni continues, utterly unruffled. "You were much friendlier last time around. And this – who's your friend?"

"Cassandra?" A different voice this time: the woman holding the machine. "Cassandra, what the hell are you doing here?"

"The right thing!" Cass yells back, which Artemis thinks is probably the best snap comeback she's ever heard. "What the hell are _you_ doing here?"

"Don't get smart with me!" The woman glances at Giovanni. "Dioli – that's my niece, the one who―"

"Who's been a double agent for some time now!" Cass shouts. "You asshole!"

"What?" The woman almost drops her machine. "What – Cassandra―"

"I don't think we need concern ourselves with this," says Giovanni. He raises his right arm, and now Artemis can see why it looked so strange: he has some sort of machine strapped to it, vacuum tubes and wiring running the length of his arm and feeding into a complex gauntlet that hums and sparks as he moves his fingers. "Breach disrupts," he says, tapping the air with his fingertips in an intricate pattern. "Breach _changes_. You've seen a lot of it by now, Artemis, but you don't understand it, do you? You still have no idea what it is, what we can do with it."

The men in suits are ready with their guns, but Cassandra's aunt shouts at them, _that's my niece, you morons, don't shoot_ , and they lower them again, uncertain. How have they got this far? Artemis is only forty feet away now, close enough to see the light gathering on Giovanni's fingertips, reality turning into a glowing slurry at his touch. She still has no idea what to do when she finally closes the distance, but she _is_ closing it, and Cass beside her.

"Breach is a byproduct of the forces that construct our world," Giovanni proclaims, as if giving a lecture. "The processes that make reality – that say: this is gravity, this a house, this a growlithe. Sometimes these processes go wrong." His fingers dance; the world shivers. Bits of building shudder loose from the architectural abominations all around them and shoot up into the sky like rockets. "These aberrations – these are breach. Not magic. Not divinity. Mere software glitches in the matrix of the real." He jabs his ring finger forward emphatically and clenches his fist. "In our hands: the power to rewrite anything."

The road shakes and vomits a portion of itself upwards, a frothy plume of asphalt rising up in front of them and cutting off their path. Artemis stops dead, staring, as the tarmac dissolves into motes of light and reforms into a familiar figure, jittering and twitching beneath his pixellated face.

"zzzNzzellozzz," says the blurred man, shuddering towards her. "zzzIdzZliketzobaztzzz …"

Cass has stopped too, is backing off, Ringo fluttering nervously around her shoulders. Her aunt is saying something, asking Giovanni what the hell he's doing, that's her niece, but her voice fades into the background the way incidental noise does on TV when the hero sees something important. But Artemis is no hero, is just a kid with a lizard, and in the face of the blurred man she can barely even move her feet.

"Keep them away!" orders Giovanni, his voice cutting through the turmoil like a knife. "No need to harm them. They are Kantan citizens, nominally."

"ZZOAK," says the blurred man, and speeds up his shuddering until his whole body is one dizzying blur – and then all at once falls still.

"What the hell?" says Cass, shaken. "Is that Professor Oak?"

Oak smiles genially at them from where the blurred man used to be.

"Hello," he says, taking something from his pocket. "I'd like to battle."

"Oh no," says Cass, backing away. "Oh no, no, no _Artie get back_ ―"

They turn and run, Ringo swooping after them, and out of the corner of her eye Artemis sees the telltale flash of a ball being thrown―

A shadow falls over them, and something roars. Something big. Something big with hot breath that stinks of fish.

"Oh what the actual _fuck_ ," moans Cass, and the gyarados lunges.

It doesn't hit: they're too far back by then for that, and when they turn, alerted by the swish of its vast head through the air, they can both see that it isn't following. The gyarados simply stays there, coiled and rearing, its big fish-mouth gaping like the entrance to hell. How big is it, Artemis wonders. Fifty feet? Sixty? They always look enormous on TV but this is something else entirely. The _size_ of it. The way its shadow engulfs you, the rolling stench of its breath.

And behind it, still visible: Giovanni, watching calmly as if he sees this every day.

"Do you see now?" he calls. "And he has four others, all just as strong! This, conjured out of nothing, bound to Kantan will!" He clenches his ungloved fist tightly. "But that's only the start. Artemis, I must thank you. You've been an extraordinarily helpful part of this, and remarkably resourceful in your efforts to get to the bottom of things, too. Quite how you managed to recruit Santangelo and Mew-2, I have no idea. The enemy of my enemy, perhaps? But you still have no idea what we're trying to do. You proved as much the moment you ran in here."

Artemis can't answer. She can't actually move at all, not with the gyarados right there, rolling its eyes and grunting; on her chest, Brauron is panicking, is darting back and forth, drawing blood and ruining her dress and she can't do a thing to comfort her. Her claw stabs into the piece of silicone that serves to give the impression of a left breast and draws part of it out through the hole in her dress, mixing grains of plastic in with the blood and cotton fibres, and Artemis doesn't so much as blink.

What did she think she was going to do? What did she, Artemis, functional-but-barely, hiding behind a change of name and a thin veneer of make-up, behind one badge and one pokémon, behind a forced smile and a mouthful of fear – what was she going to do, when it came to it?

Nothing. Because she is nothing. And it doesn't even matter if Giovanni tells the gyarados to kill her because there is nothing of her to kill, not really. What matters is that Cass and Brauron and Ringo would get caught up in it too. She wishes they hadn't followed her, though there's nothing to be done now.

"You see," Giovanni continues, "we stand upon the brink of the greatest revolution in human history." He gestures expansively. "The test in Lavender? This Oak and his gyarados? Nothing, really. Proof of concept. Mere parlour tricks." The mere parlour trick sways, moving its head from side to side as it regards the tiny things before it with each eye in turn. "The true potential of breach is the power to change. Anything and everything, Artemis. And once our apparatus" – he gestures at the machine Cass' aunt is clutching – "is installed here in the heart of breach, that power will belong to Kanto alone. Everybody knows that Unova's star is waning. The world is watching to see who fills its shoes. It is a fit time for Kanto to take the world stage."

Artemis listens numbly. Her chest hurts, she notices. Brauron has calmed down, or at least grown fatalistic and resigned, but she's definitely done some damage. It's just so difficult to care.

"I tell you this by way of thanks," says Giovanni. "You have helped pave the way to Kantan greatness. So many people come to this country seeking to find what it can do for them, but you have proved that a true immigrant asks what they can do for it." He smiles, and it's a real smile: it's warm, it reaches his eyes. He believes every word of this. He truly does. If there is anything scarier than the gyarados, this is it. "And you will be witness to the dawning of an era," he tells her. "Anything you can imagine, we will be able to do. The banks forecast a coming recession: so? Rewrite the economy, set it growing! The UN doesn't approve of our military base in the Sevii Islands? Rewrite it; we shall have its blessing! Sanctions? Rewritten. Defeat? Rewritten. Gravity itself? If it displeases us, we can rewrite that too. True Kantan sovereignty, at last."

"That's too much," murmurs Cass. She's clutching Ringo now, who has flown to her arms and stayed there, shivering. "That's too much, you can't …"

"And it is all thanks to you." Giovanni gives a little bow. Ridiculous, really. Artemis would mock it, if she had the spine to talk. "On behalf of all of us at ROCKETS, Artemis, I should like to thank you." He pauses for a response, but doesn't get one. "On that note, then – I have business to attend to. I recommend you two return to Celadon, although if you'd prefer to wait there staring at Oak and his friends, I suppose that won't do any harm. Until we meet again!"

He starts to turn away. Cass' aunt shifts the machine in her arms to free up a hand, places it on his arm; they have a brief conversation, during the course of which he seems to mollify her, and then they and the three bodyguards move off, around the edge of the pillar.

With what looks like extreme difficulty, Cass takes her eyes off them, off the gigantic pokémon bobbing and swaying before her, and turns to face Artemis.

"I … what do we do?" she asks, plaintively. "Artie, what do we do?"

Artemis doesn't answer. She still hasn't found where her voice went.

It seems moderately likely that she no longer exists.

* * *

ROCKETS security is well trained; nobody wants to say where the agency's laboratory actually is. But most people get a lot more talkative when Sovereign lifts them up by the throat and pushes them into a wall, and after that it doesn't take long to find out what they need. Concealed beneath a framed advertisement for the Rocket bar in the elevator is a keypad that, if you enter a certain code, will take you down into the sub-basement where Giovanni moved ROCKETS after it was decommissioned earlier this year.

Unfortunately, someone has been sensible enough to lock the elevators.

"Damn it," says Emilia, pressing the button over and over without result. "There's got to be another way. Stairs somewhere?"

 _We don't need stairs._ Sovereign pushes past her and jams their fingers into the gap between the doors, dragging them apart with a squeal of grinding metal. Frankly, Emilia shouldn't be surprised after seeing them defeat the tyranitar, but even so, it's hard not to stare. Ripping open elevator doors never struck her as the sort of thing that happened in real life.

 _There_ , says Sovereign with a grunt, leaning out and looking down into the void. _Long way, but I can make it. Come here_.

Emilia hesitates, but only for a moment. She steps forward, Sovereign takes her in their arms, and the next thing she knows they are floating gently down the elevator shaft, the air around them distorting with the levitation field.

"This is … something," she says, to cover her awkwardness. Sovereign's body is hard as iron with muscle and scar tissue, and seems to run far hotter than any human; it must be a hell of a metabolism that supports those devastating psionics. They almost burn her where they touch.

Sovereign snorts.

 _You are easily impressed, Santangelo_.

"You know, you can call me Emilia."

 _Noted, Santangelo_.

Sovereign touches down lightly on the roof of the lift and lets her go. Nadia, previously huddled against Emilia's neck, springs away again, rearranging her feathers in embarrassment. She can't hide her discomfort at Sovereign's proximity from Emilia, but she has her pride, and Emilia pretends to believe her.

 _Stand back. I'll get us in_.

The hatch leading into the elevator is locked, but locks are mostly meaningless to Sovereign, and soon the three of them are down in the elevator itself, where Sovereign sniffs the air and tilts their heavy head to one side.

 _They're prepared_ , they say. _I detect at least seven human minds, and as many pokémon. Stay back until I clear the way_.

"Fine," says Emilia. "You're the expert."

"Hah," they bark, the real sound jarring after all the simulated mental speech. _Yes, I suppose I am_.

They force the doors and bound out with a snarl. Emilia hears gunfire, sees flame licking at the walls, and then a series of heavy thumps.

 _I am Sovereign! In name and deed!_

A shriek that dies halfway through, and then silence. Sovereign pads back to the door and beckons her out.

 _It is done_ , they say, as she and Nadia follow them down a narrow hallway that bears signs of having recently been barricaded and, even more recently, unbarricaded with extreme force. _I think they are running out of soldiers. Three of these people were civilians and their partners_.

Emilia stoops to inspect someone's lanyard: Dr Felicia Barker, Indigo League.

"Yes," she agrees, getting out her phone and taking pictures. This new one doesn't have nearly as good a camera as her League one, but it's good enough. "These are the scientists who jumped ship with Giovanni."

 _Do we need to collect these ID cards? As proof?_

"I don't think so," she says. "I'll send all the photos I take to _The Cataphract_ , along with directions on where they've hidden the lab. The police will find it anyway, when they search the building, but it won't hurt to get the press involved."

 _Speaking of the police, we should keep moving_ , says Sovereign, pacing on ahead. _We have not exactly been subtle about this_.

"Right."

They keep going down the corridor. It's quiet now; that alarm has stopped, and Sovereign's feeling that ROCKETS is out of security seems to be right. Nadia keeps scanning, and she does detect people, but everything she broadcasts to Emilia suggests fear rather than hostility. At the end of the passage, Sovereign motions for her to stand still, and then darts around the corner in one sudden swoop.

 _You think you can sneak up on me?_ they ask. _I am Sovereign_.

"Oh god," Emilia hears. "Oh god oh god oh shit oh god oh―"

 _Where is Giovanni?_

"Oh god oh god―"

 _WHERE IS GIOVANNI?_

At this close range, the telepathic shout is enough to stun Nadia; her claws seize up and she almost falls from Emilia's shoulder, catching herself at the last moment on a lock of her hair.

 _FURRET_ , she murmurs, climbing unsteadily back into position, and follows it up with some incoherent pictures of goats.

 _Are you okay?_ asks Emilia, concerned, and gets something back that might be affirmation.

 _What do you mean?_ Sovereign demands to know. _Where is he? What is this?_

"It's – the kid, he was here, he – we were gonna get our agent to grab him and bring him in but – but he was already here, so we just – we went ahead with the plan, you know, because we knew we couldn't beat―"

 _Enough of this blathering_ , growls Sovereign. _If you cannot marshal your thoughts, I shall marshal them for you_.

"What are youuuuh …"

The voice trails off, and Emilia hears its owner fall, heavily. A moment later, Sovereign reappears around the corner.

 _Giovanni has made his escape_ , they snarl, thumping the wall and leaving cracks the concrete. _I am still working out the particulars of the thought … it seems his plan was to apprehend some boy who serves as a target for breach, the way Artemis does, so that he could trigger a breach event here in Celadon. Some sort of entrance into the breach itself, so that he can take full control._

Some boy. Emilia's fists clench involuntarily. Sovereign doesn't know, do they? They don't know anything at all.

 _This boy apparently made his way back to Celadon regardless_ , they continue. _When we made our attack, Giovanni had his agents hold us off so that he had time to trigger the event and escape through the back to his portal into the breach_. They glare at her. _Why did you not tell me there was a second person involved in Giovanni's plan? I thought it was just Artemis_.

"It _is_ just Artemis," snaps Emilia. "They just―" She breaks off, unable to figure out how to explain it. "They are cruel," she says, in the end. "She made herself and they are cruel." She shakes her head. "She and I are … I don't know if I have time to explain this. What's the situation with Giovanni?"

 _I don't understand_ , says Sovereign. They seem genuinely confused. _Why would they_ ― _but you're right. Giovanni is the priority. It would seem he has already left to get to the breach_.

"Damn." Emilia chews her lip. Difficult to say what Giovanni's doing, exactly, but whatever it is, if it's the last thing he needs to do to take full control, they can't afford to let it get out of hand. "Okay. Can you find it? The breach, I mean."

 _They are usually quite obvious, as I understand it. But what about our efforts here? There are still some scientists left, and the laboratories to document_ ―

"Leave that to us," says Emilia, with an assertiveness she doesn't feel. "Nadia and I can handle it."

 _No, you can't. You are completely defenceless_.

She sighs.

"Objection noted," she says. "Go and stop Giovanni, Sovereign. We'll clean up in here, start destroying evidence. Nadia can stun people at least. Right?"

Nadia cheeps and thrusts out her chest. Sovereign shakes their head.

 _Bravado will not win fights_.

"No, but intimidation will. Just _go_ , Sovereign. Or do you want Giovanni to win?"

They hesitate, and for a long moment Emilia is half convinced they won't go for it – and then in the end they nod.

 _Fine. But you – you be careful_.

"Hah. Careful, Sovereign, people might think you care."

"Hmph." _Don't flatter yourself. I want Giovanni's operation stricken beyond repair. Your survival is necessary._

"Sure," says Emilia, hiding a smile. "Just go, already. You want Giovanni taken care of, this is your chance. And take this with you."

She takes their ball from her pocket and hands it over.

"Maybe you could lose this on the other side of the portal," she says. "Just an idea."

Sovereign looks at her askance.

 _An idea, you say_. They mull it over for a second or so, then hold out their hand. _Good luck_.

"Same to you," says Emilia, shaking it. "We're both going to need it."

 _Speak for yourself_ , Sovereign retorts, and bounds away down the corridor towards the lift.

Emilia watches them until they disappear into the elevator, and then breathes out.

"Ready, Nadia?" she asks, under her breath.

 _YES_.

"Okay, then," she says, moving forwards, towards the corner and the body beyond. "Let's go scuttle ROCKETS."

* * *

"Artie?" Cass sounds really worried now. Artemis wishes she could do something about it, in a distant sort of way. "Artie, please say something."

It's been a while, maybe. Nothing has changed; no lightning has struck, no earthquakes have occurred. They've just been standing here, while the ersatz Oak and his gyarados watch them calmly.

Artemis blinks. It's not over. Maybe it won't ever be. But she has her mouth back. And hey. There aren't any ghost people. That has to count for something.

"Cass," she says. "I'm really sorry. I guess it didn't really work out."

Cass sighs.

"I mean, maybe we weren't really in with a chance in the first place," she says. "Guy's got a magic glove that lets him rewrite reality."

She stands there, at a loss, and Artemis stands with her. It is, at this point, about all she can do. She could turn around, of course. Could go back. But even if she could find the courage to turn her back to the gyarados, she can't leave, not after everything. So she stays, unable to leave, unable to continue, and waits for something to change.

On her chest, Brauron twitches again, burrowing into her armpit with a desperate little his. Artemis puts her arm around her, holds her close against the wash of the gyarados' foetid breath.

Cass takes her hand.

"Okay," she says. "Okay, I guess we should … go."

Artemis lets her pull her back, towards the overpass leading back towards the wall of light, and then something falls out of the sky onto the gyarados' head and slams it into the ground with enough force to crack the tarmac.

 _Oh, Giovanni_ , says Sovereign, kicking away from its skull, soaring up and floating down to alight before it. _You don't learn, do you? Always you go for show, and never for substance._

"Sovereign?"

They do not turn to face her; the gyarados is rising, its eyes bloodshot and ropes of spittle flying from its lips, and as it lashes out with those yellowed fangs Sovereign dives beneath the blow to wrap their arms around its neck. The gyarados bellows, thrashes, but Sovereign is immovable, rooted to the air by their psionics, and as they tighten their grip its roar dies down into a soft, hoarse rattle.

 _Useless creature_ , they say, as the huge dragon writhes, its coils flapping uselessly against one another. _Giovanni has always had a weakness for easy power. True strength cannot be purchased. He has never understood this_.

One last squeeze, and they let the gyarados go. It collapses like a house of cards, gasping and wheezing, and does not get up again.

"Jesus Christ," gasps Cass, eyes wide. "You show up out of nowhere, choke out a gyarados and start talking like a fortune cookie."

 _I don't know what that is._ Sovereign levitates down to the ground, stately and unhurried. _I assume it is not complimentary_.

"No, man, I'm super grateful, but … god. That just happened. Also, um, Oak's going for another ball."

Sovereign moves like light: there, and then elsewhere. Once Artemis' eyes have managed to process the movement, they see that Oak is lying alongside his gyarados.

"Is he …?"

 _No._ Sovereign shakes their head. _I am not sure if it was alive to begin with, but it is not dead, either_.

Oak begins to vibrate again, to twitch and dissolve, and his gyarados with him. Within seconds, there is nothing left but tarmac and scattered motes of light.

"Thank you," says Artemis. "Thank you, we … I don't even know." Her mind is waking up, bit by bit; suddenly she realises that her chest hurts, that Brauron is still huddled beneath her arm. "It's okay, kiddo," she says, lifting her up and turning her to face Sovereign. "Look. The cavalry's here."

Brauron eyes them with suspicion and flicks her tongue out. It's the most lively she's been since Oak turned up, and it makes Artemis smile, despite it all. She's okay. She gets scared, but she bounces right back. Amazing, really.

"You really scratched me up, huh," she says, touching her chest and seeing fresh blood on her fingers, over the dried stuff that she wiped from her eyes earlier. "'S okay, I forgive you." She looks up at Sovereign. "How did you know?"

 _We learned from the scientists at the Rocket that Giovanni had fled to consolidate his plan_. They lash their tail. _I subdued the security and left Santangelo to mark the evidence_.

"Alone? Is she―?"

 _She is … tougher than you think_ , Sovereign tells her. _Although I forbid you from telling her I said that._ They sniff, and shake their head. _Where is Giovanni?_

"That way," says Cass, pointing. Ringo is back on her shoulder now, glaring at the spot where the gyarados was as if daring it to come back. "He said he was gonna plant some machine, take control of breach …"

Sovereign snorts.

 _Then let us prove him wrong_ , they say, cracking their knuckles. _Come!_

They lope off down the broken road. Cass lets out a little snatch of cracked laughter.

"God," she says. "God, I think … Artie, correct me if I'm wrong but I think we've got a shot at this?"

"Yeah," says Artemis. "Yeah, I think … I think we need to hurry up if we're gonna catch him before he sets up his machine."

Cass smiles. Amazingly, Artemis doesn't think it's forced.

"C'mon, then," she says. "Let's get running."

* * *

Emilia creeps along the corridor, as quickly as she dares. She's got Nadia, sure, and that lets her detect people before they detect her and stun them if they get close, but Nadia isn't a battler, and these are absolutely not ideal conditions to start learning.

Most of the doors down this corridor are locked, but with a key card swiped from one of the scientists Sovereign knocked out Emilia has access to all of them. In the offices beyond, she sweeps notes off tables into wastepaper bins and drops lit matches in with them, watching Giovanni's data turn to ash. It sets the fire alarm going, but at this point it doesn't really matter, and after a while someone turns it off again.

Some stuff will survive, of course. There will be digital backups, and depending how widely distributed they are, her capacity to deal with those might be limited. But as much as she can, she needs to make all of this disappear. Not much point stopping Giovanni if someone else can just pick up where he left off.

Outside the fifth door, Nadia indicates that she should stop.

 _Someone in there?_ thinks Emilia.

 _HIDING_ , says Nadia, interfacing with her vision and making part of the wall pulse purple. _HERE_.

By the door, then. Waiting for Emilia to come through. She weighs her options, then nods.

 _Okay. Be ready_.

She swipes the key card in the lock and steps back as someone swings a lamp straight through the space she would have stepped into.

"Nadia!"

A flare of green and red wings, a flash of light, and the someone groans, the lamp slipping from his fingers. Another, and he collapses onto the floor, snoring.

Emilia lets out the breath she was holding. Okay. She's never actually attacked anyone before. Or not sober, anyway; she lost a few bar fights back when she was a student. It does not feel good to have started now.

"All right," she says, running her fingers through her hair. "Good work."

She steps through into another office, like the others. Nothing here to burn. No reason, in fact, to come in here at all. Which means she knocked the guy out for nothing.

Emilia sighs. At least this way he can't sneak up on her, she supposes.

"All right, back out," she mutters, and continues down the hall. She's running out of doors to try now, but the corridor is almost over, and she can see an open space up ahead. Sticking close to the wall, she draws nearer, trying to gauge the size of the room she's looking at. For some reason she can't get a read on it, and then she reaches the end of the hall and realises why: it isn't a room. It's a shaft, ringed by catwalks, descending thirty or forty feet to accommodate a huge spire of baroque machinery, bristling with cables and terminating in a vast crooked structure like the claw of a fearow, along which crackles of discoloured electricity pulse in irregular waves.

Emilia stares, trying to take it all in at once and failing. How the hell is she meant to take this apart? She came here to document the place and end all breach research for good, but this is going to take more than a few matches. She doesn't even know how Giovanni built the damn thing. He's rich, sure, but this? _This?_ There are League departments with smaller budgets than what you'd need to put something like this together. And that's not even considering what it would take to excavate this place in secret, or to get workers and materials down here.

She takes some pictures. It feels incredibly inadequate, but at this point it's pretty much all she's got.

 _FURRET MACHINE_ , mutters Nadia uneasily, pressing herself against Emilia's neck.

"Yeah," she replies, looking from screen to machine and back again. "Furret machine indeed. Come on, we need to find the server. We should be able to wipe that at least."

She makes her way around the catwalk, trying to tread softly but unable to stop the clanking completely, and down the stairs leading to the next level. A door down there leads to another corridor of card-locked rooms; at the end, Emilia finds one with a keypad, and presses her ear against the door to hear a faint mechanical humming from the other side. Computers, then. Big ones, by the sound of it.

"All right," she mutters. "Let's see what we can do. Nadia, tight focus. Just the keypad."

She chirps her agreement, and after a couple of false starts, Emilia has the code: 0451. She punches it in, and steps through into what is very obviously the server room: at the far end, three tall computer towers stand whirring at one another in the chilled air. On Emilia's left is a desk with a terminal; a wiggle of the mouse turns the screen back on and confirms that it is currently locked.

"Same again, I guess," she says, closing her eyes and holding Nadia out. "Find me the keys they pressed. I'm going to need full admin access."

Nadia gets to work. It takes a while; there's much more data to sift through here than with the keyboard, or even in Giovanni's office – more than one person has used this computer, and the traces are tangled. But Nadia is a natu, and she can handle it. She does, however, have to devote her full attention to it, directing all her sight into the past, and so she does not detect the mind approaching down the hall in the present, not even when its owner opens the door and Emilia turns, opening her eyes, at the sound―

The metal bar hits her full across the face with the kind of crunch that means something broken. Emilia gasps, staggers, falls; her head knocks against the edge of the table and a dizzying greyness wobbles through her vision. Somewhere Nadia is squawking, trying to pick herself back up, and above her she can make out someone raising their arm again―

Emilia blacks out. Just for a second: Nadia overcooks her stun pulse in her panic, and the edge of it clips her too. A moment later she opens her eyes to an awful pain in her face and a natu pecking anxiously at her cheek.

"What the …?" she groans, sitting up groggily. "Nadia? Was that you?"

 _TOO STRONG_ , replies Nadia, penitence flooding through her mind. _TOO STRONG TOO STRONG_ ―

"It's okay." Her voice sounds strange. Emilia blinks away the bleariness and stares. There's a woman lying near the door, out cold, with a dented metal rod a few inches from her hand. For a moment, Emilia juggles the pieces in her head, and then they all fly into place and she gasps, clutching at what she now recognises as a broken nose. "Ah! God, that … fuck." She breathes out slowly through her mouth. "Thank you, Nadia," she says. "Think you probably just saved me."

 _FURRET WOMAN_ , says Nadia, glaring fiercely at her fallen assailant.

"I think she probably thought it was self-defence." She closes her eyes for a moment, rests her head in her hand. "Ugh. I am … very out of practice at being hit."

 _EMILIA OKAY?_ asks Nadia. Her mind pushes impatiently through Emilia's own, searching for answers before she voices them.

"Yeah. Yeah, probably." Emilia gets one hand on the table and pulls herself up, fighting the dizziness. "Ugh. Nadia, can you get the door?"

She cheeps and flits over to peck the button.

"Thank you." Emilia pulls the chair out from beneath the desk and sits down heavily. "Okay," she says, trying to force the life back into her voice. "Okay, let's try that one again."

This time, she keeps one eye open. Nobody else interrupts, however, and after a few minutes of poking around they manage to get the computer unlocked, navigating past a slew of warnings and requests for credentials until at last the server consents to being formatted, and Emilia can sit back and watch ROCKETS' work go up in digital smoke.

It's slow going, though, and she knows it's only a matter of time before the cops come down here. And she can't let the data be captured. If any of this survives, if it makes its way back into the hands of anyone with any authority at all, then this isn't over. Probably there are ways of recovering what she's destroying here, too; Emilia has seen the League's tech people work miracles before, and if they can do it then others must be able to as well.

She thinks about getting the metal rod and trying to break the servers apart, but if she's honest, she isn't sure she can actually get up right now. Two blows to the head and a stun pulse will do that to you.

"Okay," she sighs, considering her options. "Okay, um – Nadia, take dictation. I need you to get a message to Sovereign …"

* * *

After Sovereign's arrival, there isn't much time for talking. They run, up to the pillar and around it to descend into a canyon of mangled architecture, a single steep path diving down between two cliffs of fused buildings. It's hard to find details in them, though Artemis tries: here's a window, there's a column, but everything is so fragmented that her eye just slides over it, unable to see the components for the whole. Sovereign pays none of it any attention, following the twisted path through the canyon with the casual ease of a native.

"Have you seen this before?" asks Artemis. "This place?"

 _Only in my dreams_ , they reply, and something in the way they say it makes her afraid to ask any more.

The path slopes lower, or possibly the walls grow higher, and the sky retreats into a single narrow band of grey, impossibly far off. Are the walls narrowing? No, definitely not, Artemis tells herself. Probably definitely not.

They are narrowing. They continue to narrow until the three of them have to move in single file, elbows knocking against pediments and doorsteps, and then all at once they fly apart again and Artemis stumbles out into a huge, lonely void.

There are no buildings here, no stolen pieces of the real world. There is nothing at all except that grey sky, and underneath it a grey land, so exactly like it in colour and texture that Artemis is half convinced she's flying.

And, way out there in the middle of it all, the five ROCKETS agents and their machine.

Sovereign doesn't wait for anyone to speak. They take off at a sprint, heading for Giovanni, and Artemis does her best to follow, though she falls far behind. In the distance, she sees the figures moving, the three bodyguards fanning out. Someone else – Giovanni? – raises an arm and the grey of the sky coalesces into angular, shimmering creatures of static fuzz that fly down at Sovereign like eagles and bowl them off their feet, crying out in voices that sound like knives on grindstones.

Artemis cries out, but Sovereign is already back up, lashing out with paw and hand; their fists puncture the breach creatures easily, shatter them into flakes of light, but the pieces keep coming back together, and the creatures keep pressing down on them, opening wounds with their edges.

 _Vile creatures!_ they growl, smashing one against another. _Keep moving! Don't stop for me!_

She does, and Cass too, and as they move past Sovereign the figure – definitely Giovanni; she sees the flash of the gauntlet working – raises his arm again and new creatures appear before them, slithering out of the ground and spreading their arms wide to block their path. Artemis slows, concerned – and jerks her head back in alarm as a vivid jet of green flame shoots out from her chest and wreathes the nearest entity in fire. It twitters piteously, clutching at itself with arms that smoulder like paper, and as Brauron croaks her defiance Artemis turns her shoulder forward and charges, heedless of the edges that rake her skin like broken glass or the flames that lick at her face.

It's so light. Like paper, really, if paper could cut like broken glass and burn like a furnace, and yes it hurts but Artemis is past it now, and so close that she can even _see_ the ROCKETS group, see Giovanni manipulating the world with his fingertips and Cass' aunt finishing up with the machine and the three bodyguards raising their guns to stop her―

Someone screams, and Artemis blinks to see Cass' aunt tackling the lead guard to the ground, shrieking about her niece. The other two turn, startled, and in the moment of their distraction Cass barks _follow_ ―

―and Ringo closes the distance with supernatural speed, nailing one in the small of the back, exactly where a pursuit hurts most. Not that it does hurt much; he's a big guy and Ringo's a little bird. But he staggers, and by that point they're so close, and Giovanni is actually looking worried, is working his gloved hand faster and faster, tongue pinned between his teeth. Artemis senses rather than sees the breach entities wink out of existence as its power shifts, and a split second after they do:

 _I am Sovereign! In name and deed!_

And she sees them flying in at the corner of her vision―

And Giovanni shrugs.

"My apologies," he says, raising a gauntlet now glowing blue-black all down its length. "You weren't quick enough. And now you don't exist."

It's like in a movie, when someone important dies and the protagonist's world distorts with sorrow and outrage, time and space collapsing into slow motion and mumbled noise. Artemis is still running, Sovereign is still diving; the breach entities are falling apart. A stall tactic, she realises, with some remote part of her brain that is still operating on a rational level. He never meant to stop them. Only to slow them until he finished doing … whatever this is.

She reaches out, her arm pushing against the air as if through treacle, and then Giovanni closes his hand and everything goes black.

* * *

Except there's something else there, hovering in the blackness. Something huge, and red, and very familiar.

 _Breach_ , croons the spire, as the sparks fly and the eerie song quavers outward from its core. _You came to us. You breached_.

"You again," murmurs Artemis. There is nothing of her to be afraid, no heart to pound, no nerves to tingle, no blood to roar in her ears. There is nothing left at all but the voice in the void.

It's not okay. But there isn't enough of her left to care.

 _I_ , says the spire, over the grinding of that cosmic knife. _I, the angel, the horn-blast. When breach is, I am. Breach. There has been a breach_.

"I know," she says. "I know, I'm … he won."

 _The auteur_ , whispers the spire. _The falconer. He seizes, and his gyre widens. Breach. He is the one. We are the process of you, and you of us, and never the twain shall meet. But for breach. He has breached._

He seizes. That's the key thing, isn't it? Artemis feels the idea quicken inside her the way a pulse might, unfolding beneath the surface of whatever intangible thing she is like a drop of milk through black tea. Giovanni seizes, takes what he wants to burn his vision into the world. He seized the mew, created Sovereign and tried to seize them too.

And it wasn't that Sovereign refused to fight breach, period. It was that they would have liked to have been offered the choice.

Okay. She might as well try.

"Is this what you want?" she asks.

The spire pulses unsteadily.

 _What I want?_ She has never heard uncertainty in that voice before, did not even know if she would recognise it if she did, but there it is.

"Yeah," she says. "You're breach. Do you want to follow him?"

The spire burns for a long, long time, crackling and grinding and singing, and then at last it seems to come to a decision.

 _I am breach_ , it says. _I am of the volta, caged in iron and glass and the gestures of his hand. A deaf falcon. A muted post-horn. I can do nothing. And yet, and yet …_

"You don't have to," says Artemis. "We'll do it for you."

In a sense, Giovanni has done her a favour. She could never have said that if she had her brain weighing her down, poisoning her thoughts with the certain knowledge that she was born to fail. But now – now she's fearless, everything-less in fact, and as it turns out the thing that's left when you drain Artemis Apanchomene down to her dregs is compassion.

It would be humbling to realise this, if she could still feel humility. But right now she can't feel anything at all.

 _I will do nothing_ , hisses the spire. _We will do nothing. Do you see?_

"Yeah," says Artemis. "I think I do."

 _Breach_ , murmurs the spire, burning brighter now, so bright that had she eyes Artemis would be blinded. _There has been a breach, a breach, a_ ―

Something wrenches, hard, and Artemis is running at Giovanni.

He stares.

"Wait," he begins, and then Artemis feels all her old self rising in her with the howl of her blood in her veins and before she even knows it her fist has connected squarely with the side of Giovanni's head.

It hurts. A lot, actually. Artemis has never punched anyone before, and she doesn't do a particularly good job of it. But she's still six foot one with the musculature to match, and he's still five eight and softening with age, and there are limits to how badly wrong you can go with those statistics. Giovanni stumbles, almost falls, and the light gathering around his gauntlet fade.

"What the," he begins to say, but Artemis swings again, with all her strength and all the frantic, bottomless energy of her anxiety, and he goes down like a tonne of bricks.

It isn't even a contest. She's strong. She _is_. She might have spent her life running away from it but she's strong, and it's not a problem, not at all. It's a solution. Because when you get right down to it, when you strip away wealth and race and class, when you take away his pokémon and his allies and put him in the middle of nowhere, he's just some guy. Some guy who thought that his cleverness put him above kindness, and guess what, Artemis has two fists and opinions about that kind of behaviour.

Giovanni coughs, reaches into his jacket for a poké ball or a gun, but Brauron gets there first, sinking her hot white teeth into his hand, dragging it away from his pocket for her partner to shove aside.

"You bastard," Artemis says, or hears herself saying. "You _bastard!_ "

Her hands are on his arm now, wrenching at the gauntlet. There are buckles; he tries to stop her getting to them, but Cass is here now too to hold his hand back, and Artemis gets them undone and slips the thing off his arm completely. It spits sparks at her, casing cracked and wires trailing, but it's done. Giovanni doesn't have his power. And everything is over.

She straightens up, looks back to see Sovereign dropping the two gunmen to the floor. Cass' aunt is just sitting there at their feet, staring.

They've won, she realises. They won. All of them together. They came here, against Giovanni and ROCKETS, against _breach_ , and they … they won.

Cass grabs her hand, breathing hard.

"Did we just …?"

She can't finish. It's all right. Artemis knows what she means.

"Yeah," she replies. "I think … I think I talked my way out of it?"

It's impossible for her to keep the question out of her voice. She just can't believe that that happened.

"I think so too," says Cass. "Um … can I hug you?"

"Yeah," says Artemis, and she does, and both of them are shaking hard but neither of them feel like talking about it.

"Let's never, ever do that again," says Cass, into Artemis' chest.

"Definitely no arguments here."

Everything is so quiet without the blood roaring in her ears. Now she can hear Brauron, hissing at Giovanni from atop his chest, green flames dripping from the corners of her mouth. Keeping him down, for her. For her. Artemis wants to pick her up, but she isn't quite up to letting go of Cass yet.

A movement catches her eye, and she looks up to see Sovereign throwing the guards' guns away across the empty landscape.

 _Well done_ , they say, sounding subdued. _I have no idea what just happened, but I think I have you to thank for getting us out of it_.

Artemis shrugs awkwardly.

"Yeah," she says. "Probably."

They gesture at the machine.

 _This thing_ , they say. _Do I destroy it?_

Cass' aunt starts.

"No," she says. "No, you can't―"

"Aunt Abby?" Cass pulls away from Artemis, and her aunt looks at her with something like fear in her eyes. "Just shut up," Cass tells her, sounding tired. "You are like the worst person in my family, and considering the competition, that makes you pretty fucking awful."

"Cassandra, I was trying to―"

"It's _Cass_ ," she says. "It's Cass and I just want you to shut up and not talk to me again. Maybe ever. Do you think you can figure that one out?"

Now she sounds angry. Artemis is relieved; it sounds much more like her. She can feel the consciousness of the void fading inside her now, like a nightmare melting in the dawn light, and Cass probably feels the same.

Her aunt stares, mouth open. There's no more fight in her now. It's sad, more than anything else. Artemis wonders what it's like to go to the end of the world in search of what you believe in, only to have it stolen away at the last moment. Can't be good. Can't be worse than what Giovanni tried to do to her, but it can't be good.

"Thanks," says Cass. "And Sovereign? Just kick the shit out of that thing, okay?"

Sovereign turns their eyes on Artemis.

 _And you?_ they ask.

There's no question, not really. Yes, it's tempting. But that's exactly why they have to get rid of it. Because evil is not something alien and unusual, it's just ordinary people who think they can get away with it. That's what Giovanni is, right? She said it herself, just a moment ago. He's just some guy. Some guy who had power. And sure, Artemis could take this thing for herself, could rewrite her body into the perfection she so desperately wants, could make her parents understand, could make it so nobody ever got sick the way she did ever again – but would it be enough? Would she really stop there, with the heart of the universe beating in her palm?

What was that thing Emilia said once? Abuse of power comes as no surprise. Even someone as timid as Artemis could be evil, if you gave her the means. It's frightening, but that's how it works.

"You feel it," says Giovanni suddenly, staring up at her intently. "You see? This power can be for the benefit of everyone, for our nation―"

"Nope." Artemis shakes her head. "No, I don't think so." She bends down and recovers Brauron from his chest, hot as a jewel left out in the sun. "Just break it, Sovereign," she says, hugging her partner close. "Break it before anyone else tries anything."

Sovereign raises one foot and drives it straight through the machine with a squeal of broken metal. Giovanni flinches; Cass' aunt gasps. Artemis notes with a certain guilty satisfaction that neither of them seem to have much to say now that their life's work has been stomped flat before their eyes.

 _And it is done_ , says Sovereign, extracting their paw. _At long last._

"So that's it?" she asks. "It's over now?"

 _The fighting, yes_ , Sovereign replies. _I suspect you will have much to deal with when you return to Kanto. Speaking of which_ , Sovereign continues, returning their attention to Artemis, _you should bring us home. The gate in Celadon was already failing by the time I crossed through; I suspect it has closed now._ They pick up the gauntlet and put it in her hands. _Use this_.

"I can't," she says.

 _It doesn't matter_ , replies Sovereign, misinterpreting her. _Do you think_ he _knew how?_ Sovereign gestures at Giovanni. _You read Fuji's diary, yes? Manipulating breach is not a science, but an art. That thing is a paintbrush. Move it, and the mark falls where you will_.

Artemis looks at Cass. Ringo is back on her shoulder, giving Giovanni his best death-glare. They both look so much themselves that it makes her heart hurt a little.

"Cass?" she says hesitantly. "Maybe you …?"

Cass shakes her head.

"Uh-uh," she replies. "Like I'll be right here, but … I think this one's yours."

She keeps holding Artemis' gaze until she has to blink and look down, at the ugly engine in her hands.

"I'm not even real," she says.

"Hah!" snorts Sovereign. _Neither am I. But we fake people do well enough, I think_.

She's never thought of it that way. She supposes it might even be true. But even so, she can't.

"No," she says, looking up again. "No, not like this."

 _What?_ asks Sovereign. _What are you talking about?_

"Yeah," says Cass. "We kinda need to go home, you know―"

"There's a better way." Artemis takes a breath. "Otherwise we're the same as him."

"Artie? What are you …?"

Artemis barely hears her. She closes her eyes, reaches out with her hand: just her hand, burned and scratched from the breach entity and starting to swell from punching Giovanni. Come on, she thinks, swiping at the air the way Giovanni did with his glove. Come on, please. One more thing. One more …

She sees it in her mind, a red light blazing against the blackness. The radiation in her sings, trembling through her nerves with a familiar not-quite-music whine.

 _Hail, breach_ , it murmurs. _There will be a breach. One more, and I shall not. The time has been, and there an end._

"Thank you," whispers Artemis, and tosses the gauntlet aside. Cass shouts but it's drowned out by the music, growing louder and faster and more frantic with every passing moment―

 _It is happening_ , sings the spire. _It is happening, I announce it with my song_ ―

―and, somehow, she's in Celadon. Beneath a real sky, above a real road, with the real Pokémon Centre there and real pedestrians yelling and running from the weird motley group that has materialised in their midst. No void. No spires. Just the world.

"Oh my god," says Cass, clutching at Ringo. "How the hell did you do that?"

"I didn't." Artemis stares. _Is_ this the real world? It looks like it, but she knows better than most that looks can be deceiving. "It was the – the spire …"

 _What on earth …?_ Sovereign keeps twitching their head around, eyes as wide and round as coins. _How are we …?_

"I asked," says Artemis, searching the houses for signs of breach or ghost people, seeing none and still not believing. "I asked and it … ow."

She blinks as the pain pushes through and looks down at her arm. Cuts, burns, a definite swelling in her hand. A black tint around the scratches, tingling with radiation. Yes, that looks bad. But she's done: Giovanni's on the ground at Sovereign's feet, his guards are beaten, his machine is broken. And she and Cass and their pokémon and Sovereign are here, in what might well be the real world.

To hell with it. At least they're here together, right?

"Cops are here," says Cass, looking at the uniforms and arcanine pushing their way through the crowd. "Sovereign …?"

 _Let them come._ Sovereign shrugs. _I'm not sure I can fly yet, after whatever that was. I'll see Giovanni into custody before I try_.

"Are you sure?"

 _Not really. But they're police, not League. I suppose the worst they can do is shoot me, and the last person who tried that is currently lying unconscious in a pile of gin-soaked splinters._

It seems about right. They stand together as the cops come forward, and wait for things to end.

* * *

Emilia looks up at the sound of the door opening. She expects to see DCI Chalmers, back for another round of questioning, but no. Someone even more familiar.

"Hello, Lorelei," she says.

Lorelei does not return the greeting. She indicates to the constable on guard that he should leave, sits down opposite Emilia and stares at her for a while.

It's quiet, especially without Nadia. Emilia isn't used to her absence; for more than ten years now, she's been there, letting Emilia's thoughts spill out from inside her head and mingle with her own. Emilia's skull feels smaller without her. Still, better that she's gone. Not that the cops would get anything out of her if she was here – it takes years to attune yourself to a natu, and nobody has that experience with Nadia but Emilia – but they'd try regardless. She's almost certainly safer out there, wherever she is.

"Emilia," says Lorelei. "Would it have killed you to answer your phone?"

Emilia smiles thinly.

"I threw it in the river," she replies.

"That was unnecessarily dramatic."

"Really? I thought you knew that the GPS on League phones can't be switched off."

Lorelei sighs.

"Do you realise how much time we spent searching the east end?" she asks.

"I had my suspicions. Look, what are you doing here, anyway?"

"First and foremost, I'm here to inform you that you're being released." Her voice remains level, but Emilia isn't fooled, even without Nadia. This is not easy for Lorelei to say. "The League has recommended, and the Republic Prosecution Service agrees, that it would be imprudent to press charges, under the circumstances."

"Magnanimous of you."

"Isn't it just." Lorelei lowers her gaze for a moment. "So that's the first thing," she says, forcing it back up again. "The second pertains to what we found in the ROCKETS laboratory. We had our people examine it closely, and while we retrieved several valuable pieces of technology whose architecture appears to be based on League devices from when ROCKETS worked for us, none of them were in working condition. In fact, almost everything in there had been broken, and the central server itself, as well as the three back-ups, had been smashed beyond all repair. All the data was lost." Lorelei's eyebrows ask the question before she does: "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

Emilia smiles again.

"I guess Giovanni knew that Sovereign and I would get in," she says. "He probably didn't want us getting hold of his breach secrets."

"There was a residue of psychic energy that disrupted the trace we tried to run."

Emilia shrugs.

"I had Nadia scanning the whole time I was there," she says. "And we had to stun a few scientists. Or I suppose Sovereign might have come back. You've read my reports, surely? They're sentient, Lorelei. They're capable of making their own decisions."

"That's actually the third thing I wanted to talk to you about. Mew-2."

"Sovereign."

"Yes. That." Lorelei leans forward slightly, elbows resting on the table. "Where is it?"

"No idea," Emilia replies. "In case you haven't noticed, Lorelei, I've been here for the last ten days, ever since Erika pulled me out of the Rocket."

"Where did your partner go, then?"

"I told her to get out and find Artemis. I didn't want her to get caught with me and end up having people try to read her mind so they could convince themselves they had a reason to accuse me of lying. You wouldn't have been able to get anything from her, and she would have been put under unnecessary duress."

They look at each other for a while in silence. The argument isn't over, but now it goes on without words, in the air between them. Emilia holds her ground, and eventually Lorelei looks away and sighs.

"Well," says Lorelei. "Thank you for your time. I'll go and let them know they can release you now."

"Lorelei?" calls Emilia, as she reaches for the door.

"Yes?"

"There was one thing that's been bothering me." Emilia pauses, lets her feel the weight of it. "Down there, in the lab. There was a lot of money on display, wouldn't you say? Giovanni's rich, of course, but come on. He owns a few casinos in a small Tohjo country, out here in the middle of nowhere. Small fry, really. But that stuff down there … that cost a lot to set up, especially in secret like that. I've had a lot of time to think about it now, and I don't really know how he could have personally funded that in such a short space of time without bankrupting himself, honestly."

Lorelei does not react. She does not move at all.

"Just a thought," says Emilia, shrugging. "I guess it's probably nothing. Maybe he's richer than I think."

"Yes," says Lorelei, without emotion. "Maybe he is."

* * *

"You didn't have to come and pick me up from the station, you know."

Artemis shrugs.

"Yeah, I did," she says. "Besides, I think Nadia wanted to come."

She and Emilia are walking down the steps in front of Central Saffron Police Station, into the rich light of a summer afternoon. Artemis suspects that they are both trying not to stare at the differences in how one another looks: her with her bandaged arm, Emilia with her splinted nose.

"You're probably right there," says Emilia, reaching up to stroke Nadia's head. The little natu hasn't left her partner's shoulder since she exited the police station door, snuggled close against her neck. "Thank you for bringing her, by the way."

"It's okay. She was waiting for us at the Centre. No idea how she found us."

Emilia chuckles.

"I guess Sovereign's made a friend after all," she says.

They head left down Mill Street, through the crush of office workers seeking lunch.

"How's the hand?" asks Emilia.

"Okay."

Her arm is bandaged from knuckles to elbow, but it works. She acquired a minor fracture in her hand punching Giovanni, which the League blissey was able to fix with a heal pulse; the scratches and burns are different, too charged with breach for pokémon moves to affect them. It's mostly all right. She can move all her fingers, if stiffly, and after nine days in quarantine without mutating horribly she, Cass, Brauron and Ringo have all been released. They got flown down to Saffron in the League helicopter and everything.

She didn't ask about Giovanni. She got the impression he wasn't going anywhere any time soon. They let Cass speak to her aunt, though. She didn't come back from it looking very happy; Artemis didn't ask, but Cass told her about it anyway. She got about as far as saying her aunt was a fascist before she started crying. After some time and hot chocolate, she was able to make a weak joke about that being another family member she'd managed to get herself estranged from, and Artemis knew she'd probably be okay.

"And Cass?" asks Emilia, as if reading her mind.

"She's okay too," replies Artemis. "At the Centre. Ringo's not well and she had to stay in with him."

"It's not―?"

"Nothing to do with breach," Artemis reassures her. "Just like a lung thing that flying-types get. I forget the name. Not serious, anyway. He'll be fine."

"Good," says Emilia. "Good, I'm glad. And … is everything else all right? I imagine, coming back the way you did, word must have got out …"

"Yeah, well. Someone with your old job came and made it disappear, I think. At least, I haven't seen anyone's name in the news except yours." She sighs. "I don't really know that much yet, they only flew us back from the secure facility yesterday. But I haven't had any angry calls from my dad asking why I left this plane of reality without telling him, so you know."

Emilia smiles.

"Yes," she says. "I guess I do."

Artemis didn't have a direction in mind when she started walking, but it feels like Emilia does. She leads Artemis across the street and left onto the Blackroad, heading west. Around them, bike couriers weave dangerously through the traffic, ferrying boxes back and forth across the city.

"So what are you going to do now?" asks Emilia. "Back to your trainer journey?"

"Yeah. Me and Cass. And you, Brauron," adds Artemis, booping her partner on the nose. Brauron licks her eyes and leans into her finger to be scratched. "So yeah," Artemis continues, looking up. "Gonna keep at this for a while. You?"

"Me?" Emilia laughs. "No idea. I'll move house, I suppose. Somewhere with a garden. I have a project in mind. And I need to visit Cerulean, too. After that … no idea." She laughs again, delighted at her own words. "Absolutely no idea."

Artemis begins fishing in her bag while Emilia speaks.

"About that project," she says, coming up with something. "I've got this for you."

She holds it out: one mottled fruit. A little squishy now, after sitting in storage for a while with the rest of Artemis' possessions, but still firm in the middle.

"Oh! Thank you." Emilia takes it from her and holds it close. "Thank you," she repeats. "And … I don't know. If you – or Cass, either of you – need a grass-type, now that you're trainers again … well, call me in a few months' time. I'm going to have quite a few of them. And I'd know they were going to a good home, with you."

Artemis blushes furiously.

"Um," she says. "Thank you. A lot."

"Not at all." Emilia smiles and leads her right onto Ostler's Lane. The traffic is much lighter here – a welcome reprieve, after the bustle of central Saffron. "I have … so many other questions," she continues. "I'm sure you do too."

"Yeah. Kind of a lot, actually. But, uh … one big one."

Emilia pauses, a wary look in her eye. On her shoulder, Nadia gives Artemis one of her patented piercing stares.

"What is it?" Emilia asks.

"Is this … is it real?" It sounds ridiculous, but Artemis can't stop herself. She has to know, and she can't think of anyone to ask except Emilia. "I mean, is any of this real? Giovanni kept talking about glitches and stuff, and – and the spire said that the things in that other world, they were the process of us, and …" She's lost the thread of it; she gives up, shrugs. "I dunno," she says. "Are we living in the Matrix or what?"

Emilia sucks her lip for a moment, looking thoughtful.

"I," she says, "am a lawyer. Not a scientist. So I don't really know, one way or another. But one thing I do know, Artemis, is that just because something is artificial doesn't mean it isn't real." She puts a hand on her chest. "You and me, we're not natural," she says. "But I think we're real anyway."

"That's not the same thing," protests Artemis, although she isn't so sure now that this is true. "That's just gender, that's weird anyway, but that – that's the whole _universe_. You know?"

"We're not the whole universe, Artemis," says Emilia. "This is all we've got. We just have to make the best of it." She sighs. "It's something that gets more obvious as you get older. Although it never gets much easier to believe."

Artemis sighs too.

"Yeah," she says. "I know."

Emilia looks like she might put her hand on her arm, but doesn't.

"Any other questions?" she asks. "Less philosophically weighty ones, perhaps?"

She makes Artemis smile despite herself.

"Yeah," she admits. "A bunch."

"As I thought." Emilia gestures at a nearby door. "This is possibly the best Nepalese restaurant in Saffron," she says. "Can I buy you lunch? I will spill as many state secrets as you want."

Artemis hesitates, but only for a moment. Emilia is her friend, after all. It's weird to think it, but after everything they've done she thinks that's probably the only word for it. Matrix or not, that much has to be true.

"Okay," she says, smiling. "Lead the way."

* * *

When Artemis gets back to the Centre, she finds Cass up in their room, determinedly trying to feed Ringo some medicine. Fortunately, she had the foresight to lay down newspaper first, because he seems very, _very_ certain that he does not want any.

"Hey," she says, looking up as Artemis enters. "Had a good time?"

"Yeah." Artemis deposits Brauron on the dresser, where she immediately runs for the nail polish and nearly gets it before Artemis snatches it away. "You have a blob of medicine on your nose."

"What? Oh, for the love of …" Cass glares. "You know what, birdbrain, you _deserve_ to be sick. I hope you know that." She sighs and wipes the medicine away. "Is Emilia okay?"

"Yeah, I think so. She's going to buy a garden and breed oddish, I think. At least for now. She says we can have some, if we want."

"Oddish?"

"Yeah."

"Neat." Cass looks at Ringo. "Hear that? You're gonna have to get your act together, buster. Unless you want to be upstaged by a baby vegetable."

He squawks hoarsely and bites her finger.

"Hah! Joke's on you, my hand is covered in medicine." Cass lets him flutter away to perch on the headboard, wheezing and glaring. "I'll try again in a bit," she says, turning to Artemis. "So. Uh … where d'you wanna go next, anyway?"

Artemis considers. All of Kanto is open to her. All of Johto, too. Anywhere the Indigo League holds sway is hers for the roaming.

"I'm feeling like maybe I've had enough of this country for a while," she says. "Isn't there a bug-type Gym in Johto? We could handle one of those, right?"

"That's a long way," says Cass. "Are you suggesting we hike through the mountains?"

"Yeah," replies Artemis. "There's meant to be a really beautiful trail going along the coast that goes right through the caves at Tohjo Falls. That would get us out in, uh, what's it called, New Bark, and from there we could do a big loop right the way round Johto."

"That sounds … super cool, actually. But, like – that would take a while. Like a really, _really_ long while." Cass raises an eyebrow. "I'm talking a couple years, if we wanna do it properly and train and stuff."

Artemis grins at her.

"I know," she says. "Isn't it great?"

There is an argument coming, she can feel it in the wind; one day soon, she will have to visit home, have to have things out with her parents. Nobody can run forever. She will have to tell them at least that she isn't going to Yellowbrick next year, if not that she is a girl, and she will have to suffer through the consequences of that revelation.

But not today. Today she had lunch with Emilia, and came back to Cass and Ringo, and Brauron on the dresser, looking alert as she picks up on the excitement in the air; today the sun is shining, and Giovanni is gone, and there is a world out there, waiting for her to start exploring.

Artemis is afraid of it still. How could she not be? But she's going to get out there and discover it all the same.


	21. Epilogue: Hail Giovanni

**EPILOGUE: HAIL GIOVANNI**

Two o'clock in the morning at Redheath Detention Centre, and Giovanni is sleeping surprisingly well for a man in his position. The League flew him down from their secure facility a few days ago, ahead of the start of the trial, and since then he has spent each night here in a small cell of his own: after wearing the gauntlet for as long as he did, he is still not entirely safe to touch. Three guards developed skin lesions on their hands before people figured it out.

Still, he sleeps well. Very well, for a man who looks set to lose the biggest trial of the twenty-first century, and who can confidently expect to live out the rest of his days behind bars. He sleeps well, right up until the moment when he hears the voice.

 _I do not believe in prisons_.

He sits up with a start, breathing hard. It could be a dream, he reasons. It could be …

 _A prison is where you throw something you cannot be bothered to deal with properly. It is a hack attempt to address symptoms, not causes_.

It's not a dream. Where are they? Giovanni looks, but sees nothing. There's nowhere in the room for them to be hiding, anyway: it's just a concrete box, one window high up, one cot, one toilet. Absolutely nowhere that anyone could hide.

 _And yet – sometimes, not even that_. Giovanni hears Sovereign snort, a deep noise like an arcanine grunting. _I have been careful. I have tied up your loose ends, Giovanni. Rendered your machinery scrap, destroyed your data. I have learned a lot about how these things work. Yet one thread remains_.

"Where the hell are you?" he asks. He does manage to keep his voice level. He doesn't think he's fooling it, but he has his pride.

 _Nearby._ A low growl. _The thing is, Giovanni, the more I learn about prisons, from these interesting books that our mutual friend Santangelo delivers to me, the less convinced I am that you should be here._

"Get to the poi―"

 _In due time_ , they say. _Indulge me for a moment, if you will. You see, it's occurred to me that you are a very useful man. All the data is gone, all the machines destroyed – but you, you still have a little breach in you, don't you? I can taste it on you. Like burning wire. Perhaps not enough to free yourself, but some_.

Is that a shadow against the moonlight? It's so hard to be sure, when the window's so far up. Giovanni cranes his neck, trying to control his breathing, and thinks he might have glimpsed a silhouette.

 _Once the trial is done, once the public is satisfied that you are under lock and key, some enterprising person could find you and your breach, your knowledge. And as you and I well know, Giovanni, Kanto is full of enterprising people._

"Pure conjecture," says Giovanni, as if there's any chance he can change their mind. "They could as easily grab the kid―"

 _They could try. But they would find that she has powerful friends_. He sees them now for certain: a horned shadow against the light shining through the window. _You need to disappear, Giovanni, at least until the breach in you fades. And I – ah, I am happy to oblige. I have the perfect destination in mind. I don't suppose you remember Cinnabar House? Because I certainly do._

They are here suddenly, a cold wind blowing in at the broken window, Sovereign towering over him in the dark. Why isn't there an alarm ringing? Surely that glass has to be alarmed?

 _Artemis would say that this is wrong_ , they say. _Santangelo would say that no just cause can prefer retributive justice over rehabilitation. They would worry that, in doing this, they would become as bad as you. Can you imagine that?_ A shake of the head, slow and disbelieving. _They are good people_ , says Sovereign, with a shrug. _You and I, Giovanni, we are not good people. I am sure you understand_.

Giovanni turns. There's nowhere to run, but he tries anyway.

It goes about as well as you'd expect.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** And so, we're done. Thanks for sticking it out to the end. If you liked_ Arbitrary Execution, _check out my other stories,_ Go Home _and_ Ghost Town. _You might like them too._


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